Gaaaaah. Still no mail from the agent lady. If I haven't heard from her by Thursday, I'll send another chirpy, upbeat "Hey, how are things?" email.

Unless my head explodes from waiting, which might just happen.

Unless my head explodes from waiting, which might just happen.

Mine done exploded already. I plan to use the top part of my skull as a candy dish for halloween...as soon as I find it.

I should hear this week.

Mine done exploded already. I plan to use the top part of my skull as a candy dish for halloween...as soon as I find it.

Oooh, very festive!

I should hear this week.

And I'm sure you will get oodles of praise.

It's totally a fear of the unknown. I don't even know what notes look like. Do they come in MS Word Track Changes? Is it Deb's nightmare of post-its? Is it a few pages of stuff about tone and reordering and "this sucks, this is why, this is what I want"?

Allyson, my notes were always a letter (the ones I gave, I mean). Just a letter, with a bulleted list beginning with page number, as in:

p. 18: Here, do you mean Cinnamon's lovestruck eyes actually caressed Drakko? Or is this a metaphor?

Stuff like that.

Or she might send the manuscript back with notes in the margins -- although, again, I'm thinking old-school here. If I had to use Track Changes I would shoot someone.

Either way, they own this manuscript, remember? They *like* it. They're going to want to help you do any finessing to make it even better. They're NOT going to send a letter saying it sucks, I promise.

That puts my mind at a bit more ease, AmyLiz.

A First Bite drabble: The first nip starts out pleasant, but you’re excited and take it a bit far. He complains a little, but is still good-natured(He seems disposed to think anything you do is cute, so sometimes you wonder what’s wrong with him. Nobody gets charmed by you, for God’s sake. Not with all these real women here, who wear makeup without feeling like they’re out on Halloween, with the gorgeous bodies that promise more than scientific questions answered. What is his problem?) For now, you just wish it were contagious and blush. “You bit me, you know,” You don’t hear for a minute that he didn’t mind, and get redder than you have ever been. “I’m sorry. I’ve picked up some bad habits...the first boy I ever kissed, you know, liked that. A lot.” And it’s been years since you’ve been that close to anyone. You are surprised your lips aren’t dusty to the touch. But even your biggest fan would tell you that. But by the time you work out how to ask, he’s gone to catch a train.

Hypatia

They took you off the street, you wise woman, you teacher, you shining star of Platonic Alexandria.

They dragged you into their church, screaming their hate, chanting the name of their chosen god, justifying their barbarity.

One historian says they had shards; another says oyster shells. They fell on you, ravening with hate for your noncompliance. They scraped you until you were nothing.

Tomorrow is 6 September. Every year on that day, I feel the first bite of the shards of memory scraping my own heart. For a moment, distracted from pain, I think of you, wise woman, shining star.

Half a lifetime ago:

It fucking burns! Who said this was a good idea? What masochist added this to food, made it a primary ingrediant? Can't taste shit. Moronic natives!

You are freaking sweating over food?! How is this good?! You freak!

Now:

Gimme. Gimme. Smuggled in my luggage. Gimme. I mourn the lack of chile smoked in drums outside my Safeway. Gimme. Knock me out.

YAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!

Got email from editor. Says the MS is fantastic and there's not much in the way of major edits. Old agent says the sales department loves it and verra excited about it.

Man. I want to go home, have a latte, and bask in the glow of published-hood.