Roll that word around in the mouth over and over. Add a teaspoon of maple syrup. Keep rolling.
The book is smashing splendid. The book is a very fine tomato with legs up to there. I am done.
Until it's in an editor's hands. And then the game will change again.
Now I must start what feels a lot like sucking up. To others. To those who have broken through. I don't know many. A thimble full of a bit of them. I reached out to one, was told no. I have reached out to another. Am waiting.
I am sucking up asking for help because it will give the book the push it needs to get it onto an editor's desk. I hate asking for favors. Except when people say yes.
I may spend some time reading today about all this, the sucking up the pushing the pushing. Trying to think of others. Would you rather be asked in an email? or an actual letter? flowers? chocolates? fresh citrus for a year? whiskey club? prom date?
If you are reading this and you know of an in, of any superior curiously-generous coattails, please let me know.