February 5: Still no word from the graduate program, which, if one considers that last year I heard from them much later in the month, is not necessarily an unexpected occurrence. It is, however, mildly panic-inducing. I know I shouldn’t let this get to me, but I am a weak and craven being, prone to intense periods of self-doubt, and so the waiting for me is pretty unpleasant.

I have had plenty to keep me distracted this week: homework for my classes (which are going better now–don’t feel like the Mac dunce of the class anymore); continuing revision of my manuscript; a smattering of small freelance projects; a brief and mild bout with the flu–there’s enough to keep me busy.

But in those quiet moments right before I fall asleep at night, or when I pause to look out the window now at the softly falling snow, I wonder if today will be the day.

Would it really change anything if I were rejected again? Other than knocking my self-esteem down a bit further again, probably not. I’d still write, still work, still hope, but my path, without completion of my degree, would continue to incline steeply, making my journey much more arduous. I feel as though the path would level off a bit with that accomplishment under my belt.

I don’t believe that having that M.F.A. behind my name is an automatic path to publication–it’s not. That requires discipline, hard work, networking, and an incredible amount of luck. The first 3 are entirely under my control, but it’s that 4th element that I wonder sometimes if I am lacking, and which, somewhere in the fevered recesses of my writer’s brain, I wonder if I can compensate for by acquiring those three little letters.

It’s hard for agents and publishers to take a writer seriously when there is no English or Journalism background in one’s history to provide an indication of  one’s writing abilities. They receive, each day, so many queries and so many submissions that I find myself imagining that they must have some sort of a minimum checklist of criteria to winnow the wheat from the chaff:

I imagine something like this:

“Hmm. This author spelled my name correctly. That’s good. The genre is right–I’ll never forget the time I got that “Erotica” manuscript by mistake; hoo boy, that was an interesting read! Looks like it’s formatted according to our secret code, excellent. Ooo, look! She even mentioned several of our published works–that’s bonus points! Wait–uh oh. Oh, dear. No English or Journalism background. Too bad, her synopsis sounded pretty interesting.” [loud thud as bright red “Rejected” stamp is applied to query].

I know, I know–that’s just silly. But when you know there are so many submissions each day, you look, often in vain, for the one thing, that tiny thing, that will get your foot in the door. For me, I look for the things that are in my control to change. Discipline. Careful revision. Thoughtful and effective feedback from respected readers meticulously incorporated…and completing my master’s. Right now, those are the things I can control, so those are the things about which I obsess. (Of course, if I get rejected again, that’s one more thing that is not something I can control–it’s that steep incline thing again…)

So yeah, the waiting is hard, because even though I want to be cool and blase about it, I can’t. It matters too much to me. So I write, and I revise, and I query, and I network, and I wait, to see who will visit my mailbox this month: Will it be the Acceptance Fairy or the Rejection Fairy? (I see her too much as it is.)

These are all of the things that are under my control.

Of course, I wouldn’t kick a little bit of extra luck out of bed right now, either.