The Writing Life

The semester has finally ended and I find myself with a bit of that precious commodity: time. Of course, the accompanying necessary ingredient: motivation--now that one's still missing a bit. I know logically that after the stress of the semester that I'd have to just be prone for a week, but there's a buzzing under my skin to get started on all the projects I couldn't during school. Like writing!!

I'm doing last edits on Glitch before Agent Dude sends the manuscript out on submission in Jan. He's mentioned some impressive publishing houses, now we'll just see if they want me. Do you remember the refrain of that 90's song by the Cardigans:

Love me, love me, say that you love me

Yeah, the entire querying, trying to get an agent, and now sending it on submission to editors makes that song refrain sound over and over in my head. Love me! Love me! Say that you love me! And my book!

But then, because I'm me, this leads to larger existential questions - isn't that the refrain to most our lives - would someone or multiple someones just love us and want us around? Sometimes I've thought the epigraph of my life would be: she wanted to be wanted. Which um, yeah, sounds a little emo and pathetic, but really, I think it's what most of us just want. It's what I wanted when I was a dorky 7th grader hoping for a seat at the lunch table with the cool kids, it's what I wanted when I went off to college and started dating, it's what we want when we are interviewing for jobs, when looking for agents, and now publishers. Like me, like me! I swear I'm cool enough to belong here! I'm unique and special, like the snowflakes!! Like the snowflakes, dammit!