For those unaware, Schrodinger's Cat was a thought experiment devised in 1935 by it's namesake, an Austrian scientist named Erwin Schrondinger. It essentially assumed that if you placed a cat inside a box wired with various mechanisms that could both kill and/or prevent its death, prior to opening the box again, the cat was both alive and dead at the same time.
It presented a paradox. This is how I currently think of my writing career.
Right now, at this moment, I have my manuscript with three different literary agents. Two of these three agents seem like they could have positive outcomes for me, that they might offer representation for my book, which means it would have a chance of getting published.
These two particular agents have been in more contact with me than I've ever experienced before. Typically, in querying agents, it's a straight form rejection, a rejection with a bit of feedback or it's a partial or full request. Pretty straight forward. It's several more steps for me this time, where they've asked me a few more questions: about my background, feedback on certain elements yet still requesting pages. Things like that.
It's given me a lot of hope over the past month since this new course has been taken. And hope is a wonderful thing. It's wind in your sails. It's a confidence booster. It makes you believe.
My writing career is Schrodinger's Cat right now: I have two high-powered agents interested in my work, a sea of options and publishing success waiting around the corner, AND AT THE SAME TIME, I have two more "not for me" notes to add to a growing mountain of rejections, more editing on my manuscript, and more queries. These are simultaneously my outcomes.
Each day, I check my email in hopes that I've heard from both or one of them yet I'm disappointed to find no response. It's funny, though, because I almost don't want to hear back because as long as I don't hear anything, the possibilities remain endless.
I am Schrondinger's Cat. As long as I don't hear anything.
I do know that in the coming days I'll receive word in my email inbox and one way or another, that box will be wrenched open to find out of Schrodinger's cat is dead on arrival or still has a pulse. We'll see.
I am a writer. I write.