How do novelists (and other long-form writers) survive without frequent doses of "the rush"?
As a short story writer (and writer of other short-form material), I experience "the rush" on a daily basis. (Thanks to e-mail, "the rush" can now occur even more frequently than daily.)
"The rush" is that moment just before I open an envelope or an e-mail from someone at a publishing company--will it be an acceptance or a rejection, a contract or a check, galleys or pageproofs to review, a contributor copy or an assignment, or something else entirely?
The need to experience "the rush" on a regular basis--like a junkie's need for a fix--is part of what compels me to produce short work. I can't imagine what it must be like when "the rush" only happens a half dozen times a year, or less.
How do novelists sustain themselves during the long dry spells between "rushes"?