You know how it is when you're waiting for news? When you're waiting to hear about a submission, and time's creeping on towards the the day the publication said they would have their decisions made? When you still know your work probably won't make it, because so few submissions do, but you still wonder because you're still waiting to hear?
When you take solace in knowing that at least your work survived a couple of cuts? When you're happy you maybe at least made the rejection decision difficult?
When you start wondering if maybe it's not that the piece survived any cuts, but maybe just didn't get read because mistakes happen, after all?
When you begin checking your spam folder five times a day, because there's no point wondering about a rejection that probably just got labeled spam, but then there's never a rejection in the spam folder either?
When you won't let yourself hope? But when you kind of do hope, just a little bit, when your mind wanders? When you tell your wishful self to stop hoping?
When you need to write about the waiting, the doubting, the hoping, but you're such a goddamned superstitious atheist about these things that you don't want to jinx it all by doing anything more than asking questions?
That's the feeling. Exactly.