Often, writers chat about The Art of Waiting (Waiting, not Writing). Only
we don't call it that. We call it, "Why the hell isn't that
editor/ agent/publisher/whoever getting back to me?" Or, "It's been X
days/weeks/months, so he/she/they must hate my
essay/poem/ manuscript/idea."
Sometimes, the fine Art of Waiting sounds
like "F*#k it, I give up."
We have better days, when we act like artists and sensitive souls and try to convince our skeptical selves that all is well.
My
father used to say (before cheap long distance, cell phones, and 24-hour news):
No news is good news. If he didn't hear from a child who was traveling, on a
date, or away at college, he'd assume no planes crashed, the young man was
behaving, and no one was flunking out.
I'm
rarely that Zen, so I typically wait with nerves jangling, the "dead in a
ditch" tape on continuous loop in my head until my kid texts me
back.
As
a writer, I've learned to wait. And not assume the worst. Usually. Until I decide—based on nothing but a quiet email inbox—that
my work, or I, have been found wanting, or forgotten. But then I have an extra busy day myself,
notice that I haven't even replied to a text from a close friend, and decide
that perhaps the news I'm waiting for is being handled by a similarly busy
person. Or that the wait is taking precisely as long as it has should. Still, I
worry as I wait.
This
past spring, I had to wait for some
of the most important news of my writing life, and as the calendar plodded
on, I noticed a call for submission on the theme of "Waiting and
Motherhood." There's nothing better for a writer who's waiting than to
stay busy…writing.
What
came to the page—titled, "From
Boys to Men," in the lovely online magazine Motherwell—is an essay I love. It traces the most critical wait of
a mother's life: those twenty-ish years
while we wait to see if our handiwork yields the desired result: a mature (okay,
mostly mature) adult child that, unlike the first pancake, turns out just fine.
Great, in fact.
I
love writing essays in the second person, which is what I did here; the prose
seemed to materialize on the page that way and the POV seemed right from the
start. I thought it might be interesting reading at this time of year, as so
many parents are sending their almost grown children off to college, again or
for the first time.
Here’s
an excerpt:
"… First, you wait to conceive, wait for the fertility tests to reveal what flaws and whose, wait for the drugs to work, wait for that positive pregnancy test. You try to, but can’t describe the fearful waiting through a high risk pregnancy, the anxious waiting of prenatal testing, the watchful waiting for boy number one to blossom. Wait for the right time to have the second baby, wait after the miscarriage to try again, wait for that strangle-throated boy number two to leave the NICU.Wait. Hope. Pray. Wait.Two years later, you wait…"
You
can read
the whole (shortish) essay at Motherwell. And if you're inclined, you might
share it from that page, as a few thousand folks already have. (This has NO
affect on my bank account; it's just a nice thing to do if you think it's
worthy, and I know the editors would love it. You can also check out the
rest of the Motherhood and Waiting series.).
Meanwhile,
if you are waiting for something—acceptances, something to get published, an agent requesting
pages, a publisher offering a contract, admission into a writing workshop—I hope
you are able to borrow Dad's advice.
And maybe, write something else?
