Today, something happened that will completely change my life. But I can’t write about it yet because I’m afraid to jinx it. Oh fuck it. I signed with a literary agent. If all goes well, and I don’t fucking freak out or mess up, today marks the day when I start my first book.
The agent approached me because of this blog. One of you out there forwarded it to her. And you changed my life. I owe you, and I am so thankful. If you ever feel comfortable, I would like to meet you, and do something extraordinary for you, like clean your house or introduce you to the love of your life.
I’m feeling a bit insecure writing anything. The stakes are higher now. There’s pressure. I don’t really think I deserve this. I don’t want to sound disingenuous. After I signed the contract, I went to the bathroom, and started hysterically crying, just as I always imagined I would if something like this ever happened to me.
So instead of a post, I give you a picture of two ladies with two leopards, and a line to a poem that keeps on popping up in my head.
"It takes more than half a century to figure out who they were,
the few real loves-of-your-life, and how much of the rest—
the mad breaking-heart stickiness—falls away, slowly,
unnoticed, the way you lose your taste for things
like popsicles unthinkingly.”
It’s from "Washing the Elephant" by Barbara Ras, which I originally read in the New Yorker. I think I’ve posted it before, but it’s worth another read.
I’m in shock. Once I get over it, I’ll get back to my regularly schedule programming.
And thank you, everyone who reads it. Thank you for your emails, and your words of encouragement. Thanks for letting me know that you’re out there. I am so grateful for the time you’ve spent, because it’s given me the courage to keep going.