Sometimes I think that writing is very much like football.
Players train, study, train some more, hone their skills, and then bleed, sweat, and pray that one day they'll get the chance to star in the big game. Writing is no different. I go to conferences, network, take workshops, plot until my brain hurts, read, read some more, study like genres, then bleed, sweat, and pray that one day I'll get the chance to become a published author.
Everything leads up to that moment when the coach says, "Johnny, you're in." Or in the case of writing, we wait for that day when an agent will say, "Hey, you. Good work. The contract is in the mail."
But until that day, there is a whole heck of a lot of waiting.
And to make matters worse, while waiting for our own shot, we get to watch all of our friends, colleagues, peers, get their own chance at the field. Don't get me wrong...at every single tiny milestone I'm celebrating with my writing buddies. Their victories are my victories. I jump up and down with them because they work hard and deserve every thing they get.
That's similiar to football too. If you're on the bench during the Superbowl when your team wins, wouldn't you share in the victory? Wouldn't you feel like you're a part of something larger? I bet you would. And rightly so.
But damn, the waiting sucks. And the worst part is, all this waiting is dependant on someone else to say, "Okay, Kristin, you're up. Let's rock." I'm so ready to play in the game, it's not even funny. I wish it was something I had more control over.
Well, I suppose I do have control over something. Until I get my shot I can continue to train. I'll go to conferences, network, take workshops, plot until my brain hurts, read, read some more, study like genres, bleed, sweat, and pray. Then rinse, lather, repeat until the coach calls me in.
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