Writing is a funny thing. I can’t remember the last time an entire day passed without some kind of composing–scribbling thoughts on a napkin, jotting items on the grocery list, scrambling to meet an article deadline, blogging. Even when my creative juices seem to have evaporated, a feeling I’ve encountered frequently during the past few weeks, I’m drawn to a computer or a blank sheet of paper for sorting through the gulf.
The thing about writing for an audience (and not just for myself, as in pulling out my crinkled shopping list as I embark on Publix) is that someone is waiting. Most recently, I’ve been putting together a proposal for Unlikely Sisters and sorting through the sample chapters that I’ll send along with the proposal should an agent be interested enough to want to read more. It’s the biggest project I’ve pursued, writing-wise, an experience that’s equally exhilerating and terrifying.
What if no one wants to read about the friendship Edwina and I have developed?
What if agent after agent holds out hope and then rejects the project?
What if, at the end of the day, I’m left with a hefty proposal, some fleshed-out chapters, and nothing more?
Sometimes, I’m convinced that when we put our hopes and dreams, and writerly confidence, into what we perceive to be the all-defining “Project,” we forget what brought us to the challenge and why it mattered. Whatever happens to Unlikely Sisters, the story is a reflection of my daily habit, the inescapable desire to make sense of my life through words.