What is it about writers that makes them obsess over every little thing? Or…is it just me?

I’ve been waiting to hear back from my fabulous agent re: DEVON’S PLAYGROUND, waiting to hear back from my wonderful editor re: NINTH GRADE SUCKS, and in the mean time (coupled with secrecy on a few uber cool details re: EIGHTH GRADE BITES) I can’t seem to write anything that isn’t crap. Why? Because my head is somewhere else. Namely, it’s out wondering what those two are thinking about the pages I’ve given them.

The best advice I’ve received from my fellow scribes is to write my way through the waiting. This is advice that, though I try, I never end up taking. Instead, I become Super Ultra Mega Hermit Woman (from hell) and reorganize closets, do dishes, even *shivers* vacuum. It’s sick. And yet, I can’t shake it.

I have a process, and part of that process is for me to grouch at passersby and spend endless hours staring at the phone until somebody calls and tells me what a washed up schmuck I am before my first book was even released.

Or…not.

I mean, really, who knows if they’ll hate it or not? Only them. So why am I obsessing?

The short answer is, “Cuz.” The long answer is too long, my Minions, for a blog entry. I’ll sum up: because it gives my brain something to do that is writing-related (and pertinent to those manuscripts) while I wait.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my brain and I are going to clean my bedroom and stare at the phone some more…

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