Long term goals have the potential to drain one’s energy. They can seem too distant, almost etherial, hovering on the horizon. Persistance is the answer but it is a hungry, often elusive hound. I recall in my former career conducting multiple interviews of prospective employees advising that one of my cherished requirements for keeping this specific job was “just show up.” Every day, one damn day after another.
Last night I attended my grandson’s seventh high school football game of the season. He plays defense, in what is labelled a line-backer position, I believe. It was their sixth loss. This can be demoralizing for young people only half way through their second decade of life. Judging from the loud complaints, sometimes shouted at the coaches, from disgruntled parents and grandparents, it is frustrating for the support network as well to accept yet another defeat. I hugged my sweaty progeny after the last siren from the scoreboard but didn’t console him with any euphemisms. I resisted telling him I was proud of him for just showing up – but I was, and am, and will continue to be so until the last agonizing game is finished.
My writing career is in the same state of limbo. I am sending out daily messages to agents on my list of eighty-four prospects. I research each agency: their likes, dislikes, requirements, advice, and blog posts in an effort to find the one professional who will think we are a good fit. So far about thirty percent have responded. The “no thanks” bunch is in the lead but there are some hopeful danglers. I have set my deadline of early 2013 to begin researching small presses and self publishing, anxious to set this baby of mine before the eyes of the reading public. I plan to follow my own advice and keep showing up. The plot thickens.