Today I decided I'm not waiting any longer for destiny to call. I've
waited long enough, been a patient + understanding writer, taken my
disappointments with enough grace, licked my wounds + played the
patience game as best as I know how. I think most people would have folded
by now, found a different vocation, taken out life insurance. To be honest, I don't begrudge them at all, I understand where they're coming
from + why they stop setting themselves up for heartbreak. But writing is the one thing I'm awesome at + I won't give up. I
just don't know how. This is why I can't wait any longer
for journals + literary agents to get back to me, I've already given
them enough of my time. I've paid my dues. Now, I'm moving on. Something in the future will work out. As for the
past, I'm not convinced that's where my future is anyway (excuse the temporal
paradox).After waiting for a small eternity, deluding myself into thinking that patience was akin to loyalty, I've decided I'm gonna send out a flurry of new query letters + fiction manuscripts this week. I think the best response is to keep moving forward + not look back, because we all know what happened to Eurydice. I'm looking at Gary Shteyngart's + Patricia Engel's agents, I'm looking at the Virginia Quarterly Review again, at The Paris Review, the Missouri Review + the New Yorker again, I'm considering every option now. I think I've waited like a champ, stuck to the positive (irrational), hoped for the best. But not anymore. It's time for my next move, wherever that takes me. Ultimately, I want what every aspiring literary fiction writer wants: artistic materiality. Or said another way, I wanna see my writing in print. Besides that, I guess I want readers, passionate readers, I want snarly critics trying to outstylize my own novels with blistering manqué book reviews, I want online interviews, a flirty movie option that never comes to be, I want a date on Fresh Air, a little name recognition in an indie bookstore + some annoying fan letters written by readers obsessed with my characters. A book tour would be nice too, maybe a free lunch now + then, a master class with a few undergrads. But for now, I'm cool with just seeing my writing in print. That's the only thing I actually need. That's my future. That's the uncanny dream. So now I'll dream it as hard as I can + not look back in anger.