Now, in fact, I had a new deadline and more work to do.
It was the 26th of November. Thanksgiving was forty-eight hours away, and I needed a synopsis of my book on the editor’s desk the next day. I sent the synopsis and prepared for the holiday.
On that Thanksgiving morning, while I was showering, we had a small earthquake. I wasn’t surprised. After years and years of struggling, I’d sold a novel. The earth was shaking. I like to think it was celebrating.
And the movement wasn’t because I was doing the Happy Dance. I was too busy to dance. I received the actual contract on a Friday a few weeks later. It seemed like a much, much longer wait than that. Finally, on December 18th, I was ready to mail the contract. I told my husband I was going to listen to a Beatles song. He knew which one. Paperback Writer. After years of identifying with that song, I could listen to it while knowing I was going to have my own paperback. That was the culmination of dream. But I had one more surprise to discover. The editor asked for a photo, and the photographer did a bit of retouching. I looked thinner and younger--at least in the picture. I'm happy.