Through the little window
At this very moment, there is a letter — from either a publisher or an agent — waiting in my mailbox. I can see it. The fate of my novel is just barely visible in the plastic window.
Why haven’t I read it? No, not willpower or moment-savouring.
Darling Husband has the only mailbox key!!!!!!!!!!!!!! God, grant me SERENITY!
Part of me feels it is another rejection
. Not because I’m pessimistic, but because if they wanted to publish my novel, wouldn’t they like … call? Or e-mail? Snail mail is so 20 years ago.
Although my university acceptance came in the mail … no, wait, that was a phone call first. Damnit!
Thirty minutes until Darling Husband gets home with the freaking key … The wait is on …