There ought to be a moratorium on that ugly word, submissions! I’m not talking about submissions to agents. I’m talking about when you’ve landed your dream agent, when you’ve revised your manuscript, when he has compiled a list of editors and –yikes—sent the manuscript to them, especially to that lovely editor from the Big House who loved it and suggested changes.
You whoop, you see dollars grow to an impossible mound in your bank account. You start to write a dedication page: To my sweetheart, thanks for putting up with shut doors. To all my fellow-sufferers at TheNextBigWriter, I say: don’t give up, yadayadayada.
You dream about long lines at your book signings. And henceforth, you’ll fly business class, be one of those annoying people who board the plane first and sit sipping tea and reading the paper while others gawk with envy as they struggle through with their hand luggage. You’ll even buy an island and dwell on it. In fact, you’ll buy your own plane.
Not so fast! There is that waiting period when you need a constant supply of Imodium AD, when the responses start trickling in and your stomach churns. When you check your email fifty times a day, when you can’t sleep. And even if your manuscript is bought, who says you’ll make mucho dinero?
Forget that manuscript. Sit cross-legged and chant: Hummmm I won’t worrywon’tworrywon’tworrywon’tworry. Pretend that manuscript never existed. Pick yourself off the floor, forget about chocolates, and begin work on another project. Above all, leave your agent alone to do his or her work.