Writing is the only profession I've tried (granted, I have only tried about four professions, and only one in a serious way) that is marked by gut-destroying bouts of swollen ego colliding with simultaneous, massive crises of confidence.
Now that the manuscript is ready (ha! check back in another six months...), I'm back to the agent search, in which I will develop serious and very real affections for people I do not know at all, and in which I will long for them to love me back, while also preparing myself for the likelihood that they will thoroughly destroy and reject my most beloved of projects.
Let the fun commence!
(Or, I'll just spend a few more hours procrastinating query writing by listening to the Dead and triple-checking my Rumi quotes to make sure I've snagged the best bits as the introductions for each of the three books in the first novel. That sounds like better fun.)
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