Being in Limbo

Limbo. Picture from this lovely site.

And that little boy with glowing eyes is me.

I must mention that this is one of my favorite video games (do they still call them that?). I don't actually own it or ever play it in my house, because I'm a girl and girls don't play video games (if they still call them that). My better half's friend has this game, and so every time we go over to his house, we get lost in this spooky, spooky world.

Limbo is probably the scariest game I've ever played. It is my absolute favorite. The reason it is the scariest is that it is subdued and leaves so much to the imagination that you can't help but imagine the worst. I enjoy being scared but prefer this game to the ones where zombies pop up out of nowhere, in your face, and your pulse is going forty beats one minute and one hundred the next. In Limbo the fear is constant, quiet. Like breathing.

The little boy with glowing eyes: me. I am walking through the twilight woods of my own Limbo, alone, awaiting a response from Bell Lomax Moreton Agency in London. I thought in my wildest dreams that I would be happier to be at this altitude in the horrible, horrible Climbing Journey to Being Published. But instead, this is far worse than sending out query letter after query letter to strangers at literary agencies, hoping for a bite. I have a bite now, but now the waiting is so much harder, the hoping almost painful. And always, in Limbo you're in a waiting room, where terrifying dark Fear creeps up behind you (in my Limbo, it takes the form of a massive hairy spider, UGH).

I have always been bad at waiting. I am not a patient person. I think I must become one. 

Back to physical activities convenient and necessary for distracting myself: cleaning, going to Tescos, laundry, re-tiling the roof, changing the sheets, imagining the garden of my dreams, having another coffee, watching over my shoulder for a spider. Verbs, all of them tiring.

Happy Saturday, all!

Have a good one.