So life is in boxes here as my family prepares for our big move from Chicago to Connecticut (existential-identity-crisis-post tk). The good news is that our house is sold. And that’s good news for writers because selling a house right now is a lot like trying to sell a book. Everyone’s always talking about how terrible the marketplace is. And passing along horror stories of houses lingering on the market for years. Or yakking about deals that were in place but then unexpectedly fell through at the last minute. Sound familiar?

But houses do sell. With enough cleaning and painting and enough showings, eventually someone comes through who falls in love just like you did, and isn’t distracted by a rainy day, or a head cold, or any other random issue that might prevent them from seeing the beauty of a home.

During the three months of trying to sell the house, thinking about the literary marketplace helped me to remember not to take it personally each time I cleaned, and cleaned for a showing that didn’t lead to an offer. Now that the house is sold, I can find solace in the experience for the book world. There are always buyers in the marketplace looking for quality homes. And chin up, there are publishing homes out there for our beloved stories too.