Submitter's neuroses

So I've registered and paid to attend the Spinning Gold Conference in September in Wellington. I've put my name down for accommodation, organised my roomy and warned her about my unique snoring style. I've made my first and second choice selections for workshops and ticked the box to do the pitch slam because it sounds like insane fun and who knows, maybe, possibly, something that will have results. I made some unusual selections (poetry? drawing?) and figure sometimes you've got to try new things. It all sounds like enormous fun, I'm glad I registered in time to get in and I am excited to find out who else will be attending.

I missed out on Creative NZ funding again which is a tad disheartening (who is Tad and I hope he doesn't mind me using his name this way). As a friend pointed out though being funded is a sometimes sorely needed acknowledgement and endorsement of us and our writing. A big tick from the powers that be. It is hard to know whether to keep trying, to keep investing in the process thereby making ones self vulnerable to the outcome? How many times is the charm? I also didn't get the SCBWI scholarship to attend their summer conference in LA. This last bit may turn out to be a blessing though, as it is in August and may have been the last straw in an increasingly complex schedule of events and deadlines. And I doubt the scholarship would have covered all my costs.

I'm trying to get a head of steam up again on my WIP. I'm keen to try finishing it and i am on the homeward stretch. I need to distract myself too because I am at that awkward phase in submissions when its been a significant length of time since I sent things to publishers but its possibly still to early Or I'm too chicken to enquire after my manuscripts progress. Its a kind of no mans land. A doldrums of creativity and sanity where its impossible to focus on things one should be doing because there's this big weight of wondering blocking up the works. No matter how long I've waited, my patience is almost always guaranteed to run out before there is a response, irrespective of the time involved. There is no cure. Its the writer's disease - like tennis elbow or housemaid's knee, writers get submitter's neuroses. It can be ugly. There is no cure except the passing of time. And the worst thing is being patient under duress can lead to the development of certain male qualities which is only okay if you're a bloke. I guess they do give me the courage to enquire after a submission sometimes but what do you do with them afterwards?