So, I’m staying with my sister again. A life in transition. I feel like I’ve been in transition for far too long. Maybe it’s just too many times. Too many phases. Yesterday someone likened my existence to Jack Kerouac. I just laughed. Hardly.

I  moved in two days ago, and took this photo this of my room. I think it accurately captures who I am right now. I sort of think this is a rite of passage for a writer. Every writer needs to have this photo at some point. So, here’s mine.

It is in a quiet, near-empty room in a big house full of adults who work all the time. I scoured the house for random furniture, and then bought an air mattress, a printer and a dry erase board, and there’s a Starbucks next door. What else could a writer want?

But you know, I am tired of reinventing myself. And the thing is, I’ve got this novel. And it’s a good book. I think you’d really like it. I wrote it for  you, and I would love for you to read it. It just needs some…sprucing. And an agent. And a publisher. The last two I can’t control, but the sprucing thing I can handle.

So, in the vein of transition, I’ve decided I’m going to end this three-year journey on this novel once and for all. I’ve decided I’m going to spend the next six weeks just “sprucing” this manuscript.

With no other projects on the board, and no job to report to, what better time than now?  I have a small balance in my bank account that will keep me in coffee and bagels for the next six weeks. And beyond that, it’s just me and 100,000 words.

Once the six-weeks play out, I will try one last time for an agent. If the manuscript  doesn’t sell, well, then, I can honestly say I did the best I could, and it just wasn’t good enough. And, you know, I feel like at this  point, I could live with that. I’ll bury myself in alcohol and self-pity for a few days, and then re-emerge from my  deep, dark hole, self-publish the bloody thing, and move on with my life.

But, I’ve got this sneaky suspicion, that that’s not the way things will pan out. I’ve got this sneaky suspicion, that once I give this manuscript everything I’ve got, something great will come of it. Something wonderful. Something I’ve never had. And, for that, I am giddy enough to float through walls.