The Verge Pipe

Oh, my mind it going in about a million different directions.  Not only did I wake up with the song, Bad Time, by Grand Funk Railroad, playing in my head, but my heart was going beata, beata, beata, like mad.  And this was going on at 3 AM local, which means it was all happening about 2 AM on my time lime.  This wibbly wobbly, timey wimey shit needs to come to an end.

What’s got me geared up?  A few things, really.  This week has been a read crazy one, mood wise.  I’ve felt like a puppet dancing around on a whole lot of strings, with a dozen marionettes pulling the damn things.

It’s wild, it infuriating, it’s wonderful.

I may have sold my first novel.

Yesterday was a suck day, I won’t lie.  I went to bed in a terrible mood, I woke up feeling blah, and the day dragged on.  I get home, flip on the computer, and get comfortable.  Cook a little dinner and bring up the browser.  Get into my email and . . .

Yeah, there’s a message there from the place I sent my query for Couples Dance last Friday night.

That sinking feeling in the gut picks up right away when you see it, because you know you know, in that very moment, you got Schrödinger’s cat by the tail.  You’ve either gonna win or lose, but you won’t know until you open that message.  Until that time, you’ve got both.

So I open and read, and . . .

What was sent to them was a package; synopsis, author bio, first chapter.  They liked it, because they asked to see the whole manuscript.  No offer of a buy, but as they say in this business:  you have their interest, and if they want to see the whole story, then they will likely make an offer.

I asked them a question about a couple of chapters, if they wanted me to clean them up, or just send them the whole damn thing, but either way, I’ll likely be sending off the novel for them to read this weekend.

This wasn’t suppose to be the first novel I sold.  I was suppose to sell something else, something I’ve been working on for a while, not something that I just whipped up on the spur of the moment, based upon a scene I had in my head after speaking with My Muse.  I was suppose to make my first novel sale with something I sweated out, and worked over for a very long time, not just write, edit, and send out a query because a writer I know beta read it, love it, and she wouldn’t let me let it sit.

It’s not sold, not yet, but I’d going to happen, because if this place wants to see the whole thing, then if they pass, the next house is gonna want it.

I’m on the verge of getting something.  Maybe big, maybe not.  But very soon I can say I’ve got a novel on the market, and it’s for sale, so go by it and tell me how much you love the damn thing.

I can’t know what success actually feels like, because I’ve had so little of it in my life.  But right now I’m feeling crazy.  I want this day over, so I can pack my stuff and go home.  I wanna get in my pajamas and have something stronger than tea.  I want to kick back, send off that manuscript, and keep my fingers crossed.

I want this damn thing to go somewhere.

In the immortal words of Bruce Springsteen, “It’s a town full of losers, I’m pullin’ outta here to win.”

I’ve got the keys in my hand–

Who’s comin’ with me?