NOTE* The second week of drama camp starts today, so I will be busy again all week. I’ll be sharing some bits of humor in my regular posts, and I thought I would start with a piece I wrote a few years ago for The Blood Red Pencil blog. I got my start writing a weekly humor column for a suburban newspaper. Primarily it was about family, but occasionally, I would write about the joys of the writing life. I took some of those old columns and shared them with the readers of the BRP blog, and now I share it with you. Enjoy….
When I sold my first short story to a magazine a few weeks ago, we were all happily playing Howard Hughes around here for awhile. My husband was planning his retirement, the kids were picking out houses in the country and I had visions of never having to look at another price tag” again before I bought a dress.
I suppose we’re all entitled to our glory dreams and it sure was fun while it lasted. But now that the excitement has died down to a dull roar and the rejection slips have started to litter my desk again, we have resigned ourselves to the fact that perhaps we’ll have to wait awhile before we start recklessly throwing money around buying mink coats and hamburgers.
Anjanette has given up her dream of a whole new bedroom set with maybe a new bedroom to put it in. David has gone back to mowing lawns to save the money for his new mag wheels and Michael is collecting cans for recycling to keep himself in spending money. I’ve resigned myself to another year at least in the bargain basement, and unfortunately, Carl still has to get up every morning and go to work. (Someone has to keep me in typing paper and postage.)
Meanwhile the check isn’t even cashed yet. I’m afraid to· cash it because I know it will be gone all too soon; and besides that, it‘s still a big thrill to go in and look at it every now and then. (I know that will pass, since it only took me two weeks to stop opening the magazine every five minutes to see my name in the credits.)
From here on in, no other acceptance will probably ever mean as much or create quite the stir that this one has.
Someday, discussing the terms of a sale with an editor in New York will be old hat. I won’t have to try to act cool and professional on the outside while on the inside I’m jumping up and down for joy.
Someday, I won‘t call my best friend to announce, “You are now speaking to a famous writer person!”
“Who is this? Is this some sort of crank call?”
Someday, selling stories will all be part. of the routine around here and no one will stop by with champagne to celebrate. The kids won‘t be announcing it to every creature that moves up and down the block, and my husband won’t run around the grocery stores making sure the magazine is prominently displayed. (I told him I didn‘t get any royalties, but he did it anyway.)
But until that someday rolls around, I guess I can stand all the excitement just a little bit longer.