by Robert LoprestiSo, for the last two months all the precious writing time I have been able to pry loose from my days has been dedicated to one piece of fiction. I have been eagerly looking forward to kicking it out the door and going back to my regularly scheduled this-and-that writing schedule.
You can see where this is going, I'm sure. I mailed the thing today and I find myself missing it terribly. None of my other stories appeal to me at the moment. I want that one back, for just one more look.
I feel like a parent who has dropped dear little Jimmy off at kindergarten. Except, instead of wondering whether he has a clean handkerchief and enough pencils I am brooding about adverbs and punctuation.
I know I forgot to put in a sound effect I thought of a few days ago. Did I proof-read often enough? Carefully enough? A quotation mark was definitely missing on a newly-minted line of dialog. Okay, fine. Leave them something to correct.
Doesn't matter now. The little bird is off on its own. If it comes limping back in a few months, a boomerang child, I will give it another reading and shove it out of the nest again.
Because I have other shells to crack.
We'll find out how well you can keep a secret when they call in the fall to tell you you've won and make you take a blood oath not to reveal the great news until they issue a press release in December. Don't wait too long to make a hotel reservation for the banquet; New York hotel rates are brutal in December.
ReplyDeleteI among others egg you on.
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