Writers must write, and learn to leave the waiting and the worrying to editors. But I've been waiting on one publisher, now, for nearly two years. My grandmother used to talk about being as "slow as a seven year itch." Hopefully, it won't be that long before the publisher decides to print and distribute the book, but he's off to a great start.
I tend to be a patient guy. I am, for example, still waiting for my son to clean his bedroom. I'm still waiting for my wife to cook a meal. I'm still waiting for my daughter to return from college and clean up the cat puke puddle outside of her bedroom door.
Yes, I can wait.
Still, a publisher should make a good faith effort to honor a writer's work, especially after a contract is signed. But still . . . I wait.
In the meantime, I've got lots of work to do. I've got potato chips to gather up and eat underneath the sofa cushions. I've got three-month old celery sticks to cook from the refrigerator crisper. I've got my wife's term papers to edit, laundry to wash, floors to mop, people to see, decisions to make, studies to organize, meetings to attend, prayers to pray, leaves to rake, animals to feed, weights to lift, fat to burn, and many, many other words to write.
And listen . . . I'm doing it all as fast as I can.
I wonder what the publisher is doing?
No comments:
Post a Comment