Posted by Lisa Marnell
If Amy, Hannah, or Lynne reads this title, she will know what I mean; Friday, I hop aboard an airplane at LAX. Five o'clock in Boston, my father-in-law picks me up at Logan. On Saturday, I'll meet Amy, Hannah and Lynne at the Muse & the Marketplace conference.
I haven't seen them since Christmas.
I miss them.
This feeling I have, five days away from my trip, is not anxiety. Yet I do feel a shaking in my legs and arms. My hands especially are trembling, as though I'm poised on the edge of a ten meter platform, ready to dive into bubbling water beneath. I'm excited. Excited in part for the adventure to unfold.
It's been ten months since I moved to California. It was January 2007, at the tail end of a meeting at Amy's, that I shared my news with the group. The move was close to decided at that time. My husband had an opportunity he couldn't pass up: the dream job: work in the travel industry, an opportunity for learning more, greater responsibility, an outside chance of financial gain. Then, the countdown started.
It broke my heart on one hand. I was ready for a change on the other.
Support from Lynne, and Hannah, and Amy, has overwhelmed me; I assumed the group couldn't continue with the four of us, I hoped that it would.
How many things in a writing life are a countdown? Sending pages ahead of time to our writers' group... What do you mean I have to wait six days until feedback? Three fourths through a novel we long for it to be done. When we send queries to agents, we want their decisions yesterday. The waiting, and wondering, while editors read manuscripts - that is torture. And, oh, waiting for the pub date to arrive on a calendar. I can't imagine that feeling.
Yes, writing is waiting. Writing is a countdown. Writing, in a way, is a form of torture. Yet delicious and desired, as well.