As every writer knows, the act of writing is a lonely process. You can talk about your book, wax poetic about your goal of writing 1000 words a day, even brag about your progress as you move the literary  narrative steadily forward or tackle a key point in the plot. But in the end, writing is a solitary endeavor that requires you to turn away from the world and find what you’re looking for inside your own head.

I’m fine with that. As you may have figured out from previous posts, I like to be alone. I work at home, I thrive in solitude, and most of my human interactions that don’t involve my husband or kids, are of the ‘Hi how are you? Nice to see you but I’ve gotta run,” variety.

The lonely life of writing has always been a place where I settle comfortably. But now that my book is written and the solitary aspect of this journey has ended, I’m forced to turn back to the world and face all the insecurities that loom large when I let others judge what I’ve created.

I know my book is good, but is it good enough? Will an agent see its merits in a 300-word query letter and ask to see more? And more importantly, when they do ask to see the first three chapters will they think it’s worthy? Is it worthy?

I  obviously sit less comfortably in this world of (self) judgment, but I’ve come to rely on two dear and wonderful friends who are helping me through the long dark days of looking for an agent.

Their names are Hope and Patience.

While I’ve spent time with each of them in the past, lately we’ve become an inseparable team.  I’ve come to rely on them for daily support and I don’t think I could survive this journey without them.

I first became close with Hope when I was trying to get pregnant. After years of methodically taking The Pill and tracking my every menstrual cycle, it turned out I would not get pregnant by simply looking at a man (note: never listen to Catholic school nuns who teach sex education).

It took me six months to get pregnant with my first born (Max, now 11) and a full year before we conceived Ella (now 9). I was a manic, frustrated, nervous wreck in those days, but Hope got me through. She was constantly by my side during those endless months, holding my hand and swearing to me that this month was the month that it would happen.

Her cherry optimism kept me going.  She spent hours helping me recalculate fictional due dates, and come up with new and innovative ways to make mandatory calendar-inspired sex seem exciting and spur-of-the-moment.

Then, when the babies were born, Patience became my lifeline. She was there for me every night as I dragged my exhausted body out of bed for Ella’s 2 am feedings, and she calmed my nerves when Max insisted on playing his “Sing Along with Thomas the Tank Engine!” video for the five thousandth time in a row -- the music still haunts me. But while that annoying English children’s choir caroled about the importance of not giving up, Patience kept me sane.

After the babies got bigger and started sleeping through the night, I needed them less. Patience would still show up every now and then to remind me that good things come to those who wait, and that 11-year-old-boys never put their laundry away when asked; and Hope popped by here and there when I was looking for a new job, or had a birthday coming up.

But these days Hope and Patience are back in full force. They have moved into my home once again to buoy me up as I shift from the solitary act of writing to the very public effort of finding an agent.

As I face the scrutiny and insecurities of finding out if my book is worthy of being published, they’ve held my hands and urged me on every step of the way, and I will always love them for it.

Hope is my cheerleader. Ever the optimist, she wakes up each morning certain that today is the day an agent will call to tell me she loves my book. Hope is the one who forces me to check my email a hundred times a day, and to send just one more query, because that agent who only handles the occasional women’s fiction novel is probably the person who will change my life -- if only I take the time to write.

I love Hope. She brightens even the darkest and most disappointing days. She dismisses every rejections with a pffft and a chilled glass of Chardonnay, and she never ever gives up on me, even when I crawl under the covers and whine that I am no good.

But I must admit, without Patience on  my other side, patting my hand and whispering calming words in my ear late at night, Hope would start to get on my nerves.

While Hope is always up for an adventure, Patience keeps me grounded. She reminds of the towering slush piles that agents face every day, and regales me with tales of famous authors who received countless rejections before finding an agent for their now bestselling book.

Patience may not be as much fun as Hope, but without her, I’d never survive.

As I continue on this quest for an agent, I will lean on these two friends, in the way that only best girlfriends can. They know me, they love me, and they want the best for me, and I am forever grateful that they always show up when I need them the most.

They have become my best friends and I could hardly ask for anyone more... although, I must admit, I am on the look out for one other friend to add to our little book publishing posse. Her name is Joy, and while we haven’t yet been formally introduced, I’m hopeful that she will become a vital part of our gang very soon.