At around eleven o’clock this morning, my novel began its trek eastward to New York City to find its fortune. Of course, it’s only a portion-and-outline and not an entire manuscript, but I’m thinking that the lack of flab compared with all the other full manuscripts out there will help it stand out.
As the envelope containing the three chapters and outline hit the bottom of the mail basket, sporting its spiffy new postage label, its contents could be heard distinctly singing: “If I can make it there, I’m gonna make it anywhere….”, until a pile of pithy greeting cards were dumped on top of it, each of them saying, “Shut up, you.”
It’s a hard life, I guess, being a manuscript…but even as I send him out into the cold, cruel world, I take solace in the fact that at least he’s not just a bill.
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