IT MAKES ME PACE
I have a lack of understanding for ‘just wait a while longer.’ It’s glorified forced rest, that’s all. It’s the rest that comes before the task so large, you kinda wish you never stopped waiting. So, yeah, I must chill while I wait for a yes or no. I think I know what makes my cats feel anxious when I’ve got their food bag in one hand the phone in the other. As soon as I hang up from Madame Garrulous, they’ll get fed. And they wait….
But I’m waaaiting to hear back from a publisher. I don’t want to be an Indie author, I want the challenge of the process of traditional publishing. See, where I went wrong in the first place was to ask God for more patience. Well it turns out He doesn’t just hand it over. He sends trials to build the skill. So anyway, I was under the influence of God when I decided to send out a realistic drama-type novel. It isn’t for the faint of heart, it’s hardboiled, and so is mental illness. It’s also dark, and funny, and meaningful. Coach House Books, a small press in Toronto, did send a note to say it’s in their reading queue, and it was going to be about six months. We’re just a tad past that, and I believe they’re good for their word. I have a 100-word synopsis handy, I’ll drop it in here and if you want, you can help me wait for that cat kibble to drop in the dish, so to speak. Would you mind? Waiting. It makes me pace.
Thank God for this rest, I suppose. People I hardly know think it’s going to make its way, so I’ll be complaining about the task soon enough maybe. Here’s the synopsis:
THEY ALL WORE BLACK
Lynn P. Penner
Fifteen-year-old Brad Fadden trudges with his head down and his guard up. His unassertive mother didn’t stop it, and she’s fearfully reticent about it. His protective sister fled at the age of sixteen because of it, and the family’s raw scars spread far beyond what their clothes cover. It’s 1988; ganja, cocaine—whatever—easy snag for minors. Even so, Brad’s illusion of escape does not squelch resentments and suspicions which compel him to harass his freshly dead, psychopathic father’s socially inept boozing pal to exhume the guarded, pivotal truth. The truth will set you free, they say. They’re wrong.
Careful what you ask God for. 😉 Thanks for reading~
ohsohumanspirit 