Out of sync

Writers live out of sync, that is the guiding principle of their lives. While they work, nobody notices them. Their work makes them invisible. When they are finally done, they have a manuscript, a wad of pages, in print or in digital blips. Handing in the manuscript is a huge moment for the writer, but to the recipient - usually the publisher - it is nothing, because he has yet to read what the writer has written. He doesn't know anything, so what can he say? He says: Thank you.
Is that all?
By the time the publisher has read the manuscript and is ready to respond, the moment has passed. The writer listens to his observations, probing questions, well meant advice and off the wall interpretations.
Anything goes.
The writer nods and raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, he agrees and disagrees. It doesn't matter, this is the publishers moment. Not his.
His work goes into production. More and more people read it. Now, suddenly everybody notices what the writer has done. Opinions and reactions start coming in, the publisher is making plans while the writer is trying to sort through his brain, trying to strap the next idea to his running board, ready to move on.
The correctors correct or the actors rehearse, the writer starts to withdraw. While the work comes to life, the writer disappears. At the book launch - or on opening night - amidst cries of enthousiasm, the writer says goodbye.
Permanently out of sync.