I’ve dedicated my life to writing, in all its forms. I was a copywriter. Then I wrote magazine articles. That led to short stories, this blog and then fiction. My job involves writing with strict deadlines and sometimes, too much input from those that don’t know what they’re talking about. Alas, there’s also my dating profile (no luck yet, I’m afraid…). But this past weekend brought a new and welcome adventure in what hopefully will be a turn of luck, at least for that manuscript that’s been languishing on my laptop.

It all started on a Friday, when I was supposed to leave for a writer’s conference. I had to finish a project at work and as I was in the shower, thoughts about what this document had to contain swirled around in my brain. Of course, it’s a well-documented fact that showers sprout the imagination, just like seeds in a garden on a rainy day.

I keep my phone on the sink so I can see what time it is, and how late I hopefully won’t be. As I glance at it, I notice that Glamour Man has sent me a text. Still at the breadcrumbing thing. Asks how I’m doing, is still sorry that we haven’t gotten together and can he call me tonight. I don’t see any reason to answer, since this guy is pretty much only existent in the ether cloud. So I get dressed, sit at my computer, write up a storm and, after some revisions, send off the document for approval.

I glance at my watch. There’s plenty of time for the power that be to give me an approval so I can upload it to the appropriate site. My sister asks me to join her and our friends for dinner, around seven o’clock. Sure, I’ll have plenty of time. It’s a two-hour drive to the conference, but I plan to leave work early.

Or that was the plan, anyway.

Before you know it, the boss still hasn’t gotten back to me and now it’s 5:00 pm. Repeated texts don’t do much. I call, a couple of times, when finally I get through. By 6:00 pm, I upload and rush out the door. Ask my sister to pick up Chinese for me so I can eat it in the room. As I rush through the rain with my suitcase and laptop to the hotel, I lose a beloved scarf I had for centuries. That pissed me off, as I think had my boss gotten back to me earlier, none of this would’ve happened.

The next day, I have an appointment with an agent. She’s edited my book in the past, and I’m crossing my fingers she’ll take me on. My present agent switched to romance, and since my book is a futuristic political thriller, it doesn’t mesh with her representation. Fortunately, this agent remembered my book. Said she’s read thousands of stories and they disappear from her memory. Mine, she never forgot. It needed serious work. I took all but one or two of her edits to heart, and ended up with a seriously good story. So she asks me for the first 50 pages, a query letter and a synopsis. My heart stops with excitement. Hopefully, this will be the break I so, so, so, so want and NEED.

Oh God, that dreaded synopsis. How do I get 380 pages down to one? When I came home from the conference, I took a moment to mourn my lost scarf, then sat down to write that damn thing. I kept my manuscript open on one screen, then started a synopsis on another (it helps to have both a laptop screen and a separate display). I closed my eyes and thought about what words were going to come next. What’s important to the plot and what’s not? Ugh! By the end of the evening, I had a pretty strong one-paged synopsis, although it did need some tinkering. At least it was in a workable form.

On to the query letter and comps. Whose writing is like mine? Lord, I don’t know. The potential agent told me to go on Amazon and do a little research. It’s bedtime, and I’m beat, so I leave that task to Monday.

My colleague was going on vacation, so I spent the entire day picking up what she had to write and taking over her tasks. There was an awful lot to go over, and the workday evaporated. Still much to cover, and she leaves me a trail of emails, sent after hours, when she should’ve been packing. So on Tuesday, I spent the morning sifting through them.

My phone dings. It’s Glamour Man again. He left me a somewhat petulant message that could be interpreted as either disappointed or pissed that I didn’t answer his text. Tell the truth, I completely forgot about the one he sent on Friday. The opportunity of a lifetime erased everything else. I had to get that synopsis, first 50 pages and query letter together.

It was the first time he actually poked me for not responding to a text. I’ve not answered others before. Now, he notices. That seemed kind of curious. Was he actually thinking of me? I try not to kid myself. Can’t hurt to answer, so I apologize for not answering and tell him why. I’m not lying; it’s all true. My singular focus is on getting my materials to the agent.

Hours later, I hear back from GM. I can almost see the smile in his words. Says it was the first chance he had to see his texts. Said it was great news about the agent and hopes it works out. He offers to help me out at the club we both belong to; I’ve volunteered for a job and he wants to join me. I say I don’t believe he’ll show up. And why should he? He’s promised to be at other events over the past six months and never came. This time, I’ll be there, he says. I’m still skeptical, I say, but he swears he’s coming.

I set my phone on the desk and stare out the window, imagining what it might be like when I see him again. Will my heart leap out of my chest? Or will I be overcome with nervous dread? Or will he?

Time to get to work. Shake those stray thoughts away, because there’s an agent who wants to see my stuff. For as much as I like to dream, the only way they’ll come true is if I do the work. For as Abraham Lincoln once said, “The only way to predict your future is to create it.”