Publishing your writing is so full of waiting to hear from an agent or editor that medieval torture begins to seem like a diversion to inflict on yourself while enduring the greater agony. I’m at another waiting stage with my novel-in-progress, The Renaissance Club. I’ve been working on this for so long that I can’t look at it right now without guidance. I need an agent or editor to hold my hand and tell me what I’m reading. I’m waiting to hear from an agent, and the longer I work on this, the slower time seems to go. It’s going slower than for this 19th century girl with her print book in hand.