There comes a time in every creative person’s life when they question their sanity (or at least their intelligence.) This certainly has been the case while I wait to hear news on my manuscript, which is out to YA imprints. Why have I placed myself in a situation of absurd vulnerability? How did this happen? Am I daft for pursuing a field with so much risk, where so many crucial elements of doing business are strictly subjective? (And, the inevitable:) If I were smarter, would I have resigned myself to the fact that careers are measured by money and headed off to law school?

I know that there is no turning back, and on many levels I am fiercely proud of being a writer. I know that many writers are highly intelligent and I am in good company when I engage in this struggle. But I have to wonder, for all of us: is it wise?