I'm proud of myself for skipping the month of March. I secretly vowed not to post an entry once during the month. You don't know the resolve and fortitude it took to drive me away from the keyboard. I considered having my son hide the keyboard so I wouldn't be tempted to type. It's really my superstitious nature that's kept me away from the blog. You see, if I acknowledge my angst over not hearing about the submission of my manuscript, I'll have condemned it to failure.
Ignore it and everything will be fine?
Not buying it, eh?
Face the fear...
Still no rejection letter in the mailbox.
There. I wrote it. Published it. Now my faithful two followers of this blog will see it (insert shout out to Jake and Hillary here).
Of course, just acknowledging the fact that I haven't received a rejection letter has put the double-whammy on me, so it's just now being delivered.
Wait for it, wait for it. Yep. That's it. The mail lady is driving away now.
The letter is sitting in the black metal box, the one missing the latch on top, as I type this now. It's probably wrinkled. Yes, a wrinkled SASE. Hopefully it has dirt smudged on it too. I like envelopes that have aged or show wear and tear from travel. It's a hell of a trip from New York to Brooklyn, CT.
Can't wait to drive home and pull in the driveway. Take that nonchalant walk to the 'ol mailbox. Squint my eyes and edge the box open.
Anyone wanna get the mail for me?