I've Descended Into the Querying Trenches.

Last Friday, I sent my first query into the void. The next day, that query turned into a partial request, and the day after that, it turned into a full request. This is the first full request I've ever received, so when I read the email, I entered a state of shock. I could feel my fingers and toes going numb, and my throat felt...empty? I'm not sure if you've ever experienced that, but sometimes when a wave of anxiety hits me, my whole throat and chest cavity feels empty and full at the same time, almost like I'm choking on air. Don't worry, I can still breathe and everything; it's not asthma. It's just a sign that I'm really freaking out.

Anyway, I felt that way when I read the full request email because--as we all recall--I wasn't supposed to start querying until September 10th, which means my manuscript still needed its final round of revisions. Usually, I can't revise more than four chapters (aka, fifty pages or so) of my manuscript at a time, but Sunday... I sat down on my back porch at 6pm, and I didn't remove my eyes from my manuscript until 2:30 in the morning. I revised the whole thing, said a prayer that I hadn't created too many typos, then sent it off to the agent.

Sheer. Terror.

That said, if this agent does end up offering representation, wouldn't that be the best story? I don't think I'd talk about it much, because somehow it would make me feel bad, but it would be lovely. Just, you know, for me. To carry that around with me.

I've been trying to carry it with me this week, during which I've queried eleven agents, which is a disgusting number; I should really make it twelve, just to have an even dozen, but originally I was planning on only querying five agents at a time, so... I'm frightened.

I shouldn't be frightened though, not really, because earlier this week, I received a partial request from an agent I hadn't even queried! She contacted me via Twitter and requested I send her a partial, and even though that's a far cry from an offer of rep, it still filled me with such a sense of pride! (Also fear, because who am I to deserve such a thing, but let's not focus on that; my brain berates itself enough as it is.)

Frankly, I think I've been spoiled by all this #SFFpit craziness, because now that things have calmed down and the dreaded waiting period has ensued, I'm oscillating from top-shelf self-confidence to 2014-Dan-Howell existential crisis. I've discovered that I'm always confident during the day, then at about 6pm, my mind takes a nosedive. I know that and I accept that, but it's still nearly impossible to convince myself that it's just my mind playing tricks on me.

Still, I know I could be stuck in the querying trenches for awhile, so I've created a strategy for combating my self-doubt. Every night, when I start to feel terrified, I sit down and force myself to think, "I will succeed, I will succeed, I will succeed," in time with my heartbeat, and I repeat it until I believe it, as many times as it takes. I'm afraid that talking about all this will somehow jinx it, but I'm trying to behave as though success is inevitable, and if success is inevitable, I can't jinx it.

As much as I say that, though, a part of my mind will never believe it, because that's what is to be creative, and that's what is to be human: I'm always going to wonder if I did everything right, if I listened to the right advice, if I walked down the right path. Even when I've achieved the success I'm striving for, I'm still going to wonder, and I'm still going to worry. I could be depressed by that, I could give up because of that, but I'm choosing to believe there's a strange reassurance in knowing that no matter where I am or who I am or when I am, I am always going to have this part of myself, and that means I don't have to listen to it, because it's wrong.

If my doubt is here no matter what, it is illogical and meaningless, and I can mentally flip it off and keep going, and so can we all, so in the meantime, wish me luck--the good kind, as always--and I will wish the same for you.