One of the aspects of being a writer that you have to come to terms with eventually is waiting.
You send off a story to a magazine, and then you wait to find out if they will take it. You send in your edits and then you wait to hear if they are acceptable. You pitch a project, and then you wait to hear if they liked it. You enter a competition, or apply for a grant, and then you wait to find out if you’ll get it.
And there is a definite correlation between long much you want something and how long you’ll have to wait to hear if you’re successful.
This is why some writers get stressed and jumpy. There’s a feeling of powerlessness that can creep into the mind if it’s already tweaked for over-analysis, and many writers are introverts who spend most of their day inventing disasters for their characters, so it’s a cinch to imagine conspiracy for themselves.
A certain amount of zen acceptance is useful. Apart from prodding for a response after the appropriate period of time has passed, it’s out of your hands. Damnit.
You must transform those jangled, imagined scenarios of failure or success (which often occur within seconds of each other) into a better use: so you can dream up new creations, write new stories, research ideas, or plot out your acceptance speech for when you win that award…
Of course, as soon as you come up with something fresh you have to send it out into the world to seek its purpose.
And take your hard seat in the waiting room again.