It took me about 4 years to write my last novel. I have no idea where it is at the moment. Over a year ago I handed it to my editor, who deemed it “problematic” after holding on to it for months. So I rewrote for another 6 months, then handed it back to my agent, who was really excited about it. She passed it on to my editor again, and it’s been about 4 months now that I’ve been waiting for word.
The publishing industry is not for the weak, or the impatient. It requires stamina and a will of iron.
The thing is, my agent and I (and my best bud who read it before I sent the final revision to my agent) may be the only people on planet Earth who think this book is any good. Then what happens? Four years with nothing to show for myself. It’s no wonder some artists are self-destructive.
Writing involves an endless loop of waiting. Waiting for the words to come. Waiting for your agent to call. Waiting for your editor to read it. Waiting for the contract. Waiting to see what the cover looks like. Waiting for the book to go to print. Waiting for the release date. Waiting for the reviews. Waiting to see what kind of sales you make.