Today is the one year anniversary of the day I sent out my first query letters. It was three days after I’d polished up the third draft of “Burn Card,” feeling at long last that it was good enough to send out.

It took a few months before I started getting full manuscript requests. Guess I queried the wrong people at first. Took a few more months before I got a few offers of representation and spoke to those agents. Perhaps I’ll post my “query stats” at some point … but not yet. I haven’t even mentioned the name of the agent I settled with publicly yet. All things in good time.

That’s the most important thing I’ve learned in my first year in “the publishing business.” Everything moves waaayy toooo slooooww. Sometimes for good reason, often for no apparent reason. Well, there are probably reasons that are just not apparent to me. But still, the key word here is “slow.”

I’ve been kicking myself a little bit during the last month because I’ve only managed to write a handful of chapters of my current work in progress, “Blood Game.” But that’s okay. I’ve had plenty of other distractions, from time spent with family and loved ones, to teaching and research responsibilities, to coaching Little League. I keep reminding myself that I could probably churn out a good book every 6 to 9 months if I had nothing else to distract me, but I prefer writing one every 12 to 18 months and leading a full life.

The distractions are a blessing, because so much in the publishing business is out of my hands. “Burn Card” has been on submission to selected acquisitions editors for about a month now, which means a lot of them haven’t even looked at it yet. Some will get back to my agent, and some won’t. He’ll negotiate a good deal at some point, but in the mean time, there’s absolutely nothing I can do. I hate that. And so the distractions are very important, for my mental health if nothing else.

For any writer in this situation, at least one of those distractions should be working on the next novel. The important thing is that an author just keeps writing. And I know I shouldn’t be upset with myself for not making as much progress as I wish I was, because any progress is good. The only true failure is to stop altogether.