I’m playing the query waiting game, dangling upside down, suspended in time. A time to pause and reflect and await judgement.
Waiting to hear from agents for good or bad news, (quite frankly, any news is better than none) can be so tough, but also so empowering. I’ve found that working my way through a spreadsheet of competition submissions is the best, and most productive distraction. So I’ve been writing my own poetry, flash, memoir and short stories – so far that’s at least 20 new or revamped things written so far this year.
As a result, while I’m hanging about by my foot, I’ve also been on a road to self-discovery, which is inevitable for any writer I guess (and perhaps also for a woman of my age!). I think you have to go deep inside sometimes to find your voice, or at least to speak openly and honestly with yourself if you want to write anything worthy of note. The most moving things I’ve read have been when the poet/author has been brave enough to speak their truth. That’s the kind of writing I enjoy reading anyway. As a reader, you just know when the writer has bared their soul, whether it’s behind the veil of a character or not, and it takes my breath away every time. The same thing happens when you tap into your own voice – your own roots inch that little bit deeper with a little more clarity.
So, I’ve been unleashing my demons, surprising and challenging myself. Asking myself awkward questions, backing myself into a corner and squirming my way out, or sometimes not, instead melting onto the page in an inky mess. I’ve also been focusing on folklore as a loose running theme (a subject I am deeply fascinated with) so at the very least I have a body of writing that could be made into something in the future if all else fails. Nothing is ever lost in writing.
And the more I write, the more I appreciate my fellow writers too. The published, the unpublished, the beginners and the established. The writing community as a whole is one of the most supportive I’ve been involved in. Writers have an uncanny ability of empathy, almost to the detriment of themselves, which I respect immensely. And although we crave a little admiration and a pat on the back every now and again, mostly we are humble souls locked away in our tiny worlds, spewing out reams.
Bean Sawyer 