...you think a lot.
That's because there is no choice but to think, since you are out in the front, back or side yards at odd hours, shivering against the wind, and praying for your pup to do their business. You think about everything from OhGoshJustPeeAlready to IsThatAFoxOutThere? to IReallyNeedToBuyANewPairOfRunningShoes and IthinkMyHairWillLookGoodInaSidePonytail.
Seriously? I don't just have random, delirious thoughts. There's some solid brainstorming going on. I think about my next scene, the kiss to make hotter, the last query letter I wrote, and friends and critique partners who are on this same journey.
I think about them because they are burning their candles at both ends as well: raising their families and trying to fit in this passion and dream. There is a faith that comes with wanting this dream of publication, a faith that pushes us through rejection and then get up again and try to string words together to make plot and characters.
It's madness really. But it's real. And luckily, in this business, success for a fellow writer is almost our own success. We cry and revel with them. We scream and pump our fists when a friend gets an agent, or sells a book. We do a jig when we see pictures of their first book signings. We completely fangirl when we have something autographed of theirs.
But most of all, when they succeed, you feel like you can get there too. That this dream isn't made up. Nor is it a legend or a nebulous notion of seeing our names in print. Because it's not just that. It's aspiring your words will be read and they will matter to someone, out there. Seeing your author friends up ahead is much like having a friend in front of you in a half-marathon (the longest race I've run).
I'm not thinking about how much faster I need to be to beat her. All I'm thinking is...I want to finish this race too, and I'd love for her to be there at the end.
Until then, I will do happy dances at their every milestone, and I plan to read every single word they write. And I'll be one of their biggest fans.
Hopefully with a potty-trained Marshmallow.