It’s Out of My Hands

For now, anyway.

Saturday morning, I woke up frantic and filled with self-doubt, all the terrible “what-ifs” on parade: What if she hates what I’ve written? What if this isn’t really a book? What if it is a book but I don’t have the stamina/talent to finish it?

I made a couple of phone calls to fabulous writer friends who pep-talked me out of my spiral and kicked my butt lovingly into action. I was able to clean up and put together the first three chapters of the book, plus create a five-page, fairly detailed chapter outline. This is something I’ve been needing to do forever and regardless of what comes (or does not) from this, it will be hugely helpful to me as I continue.

And I will continue. That’s the mantra I’m leaning on for now. If it doesn’t fly with this agent, there are others. Or there are other publishing routes entirely.

I sent everything off at midnight last night and now I need to distract myself from obsessing over it while I wait to hear back. My friend Cindy reminded me that I’ve done my part: I showed up for the muse. Now it’s out of my hands, which is terrifying but also kind of a relief.

Kind of exciting, too.

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