Living Between a Dream and a Cube Space

Remember a few weeks back when I was eagerly awaiting THE CALL?

If you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about, re-read this post. Quick. Do it now.

All caught up? OK, good.

Well, THE CALL never came. But hold your pity, because the EMAIL did (she announces, grinning through clenched teeth so as not to arouse the neighbors at this early hour with yet another loud “woohoo!”).

The email was from the head of a publishing company. She liked my synopsis. She loved my voice. She asked if I’d be interested in working with her.

I had to read it a few times before it kicked in. My husband, sitting across the room from me, asked if everything was all right. I looked up at him and said in an uncharacteristically small voice, “A publisher wants to sign me.”

His face lit up. “I knew it must have been something good because I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

Having known me for over thirty years, that’s saying quite a lot.

What followed next could best be described as an out-of-body experience. For the next week or so, I felt like I was floating, observing myself from the outside looking in. I had waited so long for this to happen. Now that it had, I was stunned.

I only told a handful of people at first – my sisters, my Mom. I gauged their reactions trying to determine if it was really real. They were happy for me, of course, but they’re family. They’re supposed to be happy for me, right?

That I was preoccupied shuffling my college boys back and forth didn’t help matters.

Then I got the contract. For a three-book deal. With deadlines. That’s when it felt really real.

I sent off my polished manuscript. Re-titled False Start, it should be available sometime this fall. (“Can you freakin’ believe it?” she still squeals to no one in particular.)

Funny thing, though. A book deal does not a day job replace. While I had always visualized a Nicholas Sparks type of scenario – the one in which he was at his day job when his agent called to inform him of a one million dollar advance – I’m not quite there yet. Not even close.

As my husband is fond of reminding me, “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Point taken.

So I fired up my little laptop, the one that weighs less than a feather, so I can take it with me on the train to and from said day job. Book number two in the series, aptly titled Assignment: Romance, is not going to write itself, is it?

And, I’m OK with that because I’m doing what I love. Really, really love.

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