I need to be done with today.
It's inevitable. It's that day before departure. It seems like there should be much more to do, but all I find myself concerned with is running out of time.
My clothes are packed. My shoes stand ready. I need to finish this post and pack away my writerly things and the various items for class that I'm taking with me.
PostModernism in children's lit. promises to be spectacular.
And I did something that probably would have been smarter to do after SCBWI. I gave Bill a copy of the manuscript. A throwaway that had come from the printed formatted incorrectly. Yes. It was the printer's fault. Clearly.
I don't show Bill my work. I made that error about seven years ago, and he's not seen anything since. At least, not that I've given him. However, inexplicably, my arm extended tonight, with the manuscript in it, and released it into his grasp. He's reading it. He wants to finish it. I still twitch and want to kill him when he asks some question or another. But he's managed to go three pages, I think, without any sound. The long silences make me nervous.
But I will close my laptop now. We're journeying tomorrow by train to NYC. Surprisingly only one other Hollins girl will be there that I know of, and of course, one from my critique group. I look forward to new faces.
I'll try to post from NYC.
And I'll try to send a postcard or two.
My clothes are packed. My shoes stand ready. I need to finish this post and pack away my writerly things and the various items for class that I'm taking with me.
PostModernism in children's lit. promises to be spectacular.
And I did something that probably would have been smarter to do after SCBWI. I gave Bill a copy of the manuscript. A throwaway that had come from the printed formatted incorrectly. Yes. It was the printer's fault. Clearly.
I don't show Bill my work. I made that error about seven years ago, and he's not seen anything since. At least, not that I've given him. However, inexplicably, my arm extended tonight, with the manuscript in it, and released it into his grasp. He's reading it. He wants to finish it. I still twitch and want to kill him when he asks some question or another. But he's managed to go three pages, I think, without any sound. The long silences make me nervous.
But I will close my laptop now. We're journeying tomorrow by train to NYC. Surprisingly only one other Hollins girl will be there that I know of, and of course, one from my critique group. I look forward to new faces.
I'll try to post from NYC.
And I'll try to send a postcard or two.