Patience

I am not a patient person. Just a few minutes ago I misspelled a word verification on someone else's blog and swore at my computer. "Well how am I supposed to read that f&(!^#%@ thing!" That's what I said. And the other night I couldn't find the nail clippers and even though I have no nails because I bite them, I searched the house, grumbling all the while, searching for the clippers so I could snip a bit of toenail because there's something about the tensile strength of toenails that makes playing with them great fun.

I get mad when I lose the radio in a fifty yard tunnel. I put store-bought, room temperature beverages in the freezer so they'll get colder faster. Ever since Comcast forced us to get a cable box, I've had to deal with a half-second delay when I change channels and it really pisses me off. The dryer takes too long to dry my clothes. Sometimes the computer is slow and when I bring up the system processes there's something called "System Idle" that's eating up all the memory and I yell, "The system isn't idle! I'm using the damn system right now!"

And commercial breaks are too long.
The hot water heater doesn't work fast enough for my morning shower.
Sometimes I have to flush twice and waiting for the tank to refill takes an inordinate amount of time.
The FBI Anti-Piracy Warning is on the screen too long and I can't skip it.
My digital camera never takes the picture when I actually push the button, but about two seconds later and by then whatever I was taking a picture of has changed, and never for the better. You shouldn't have to anticipate to get a good photo.
And The Story of Edgar Sawtelle took too long to get rolling. Enough about the mow already.

So you can see how, for me, going through the submission process is a little like having my toenails yanked off without the benefit of nail clippers.

Patience is an interesting thing for a writer. Obviously, the waiting is something we must put up with. But I think there's something to be said for impatience. Writers, in many ways, must be walking sitting contradictions. We must be free-wheeling and creative enough to write the story, but more than a little anal to make it better. We must be able to work alone, but also, if we plan to get out there and market our published work (speaking hypothetically here), able to talk to strangers. We must be able to filter out distractions, but receptive enough to the world that we take notice of the things that become the raw materials of our stories. And we must be impatient enough to write with a sense of urgency. Otherwise, we risk never finishing anything.

So although I will soon be forced to deal with the slow turn of the publishing industry's wheel, I'm not aiming to be a more patient person. I'd like it all. And I would like it now, please.