Some conference attendees make a big deal out of talking with the right editors. One woman told me she sold her first born son to land an appointment, but I know better than that—I have sons.
I, myself, am very cool about these things. I took leisure time this morning over coffee in my room, the proverbial babbling brook tittering outside my window, and meditated deeply on several scriptures. Then I saw the time.
Holy smoke! I dressed, make-uped, and scooted out the door so quickly that I forgot one of the critiques I had prepared for class this morning. This oversight caused me to use my entire ten minute break to hike downhill to my cabin and back. I don’t think anyone noticed I was panting through my nose when I returned to the classroom. Very cool.
I felt like my lunch with the editor of one of the major publishing houses went very well—they will not be printing any new fiction for 2 years. Hmmm. But she recommended another editor. OK.
After lunch I scampered (as fast as one can with a cane) to pick up the pre-conference manuscripts I had submitted to editors. Nope. Neither of their houses can use my books either. More recommendations.
I attended another two workshops on different elements of publishing and let the words roll over me. “Don’t be disappointed.” “Don’t give up.” “Do the next thing.”
I didn’t cry or anything. OK. I did eat some M&M’s that I had previously in the day wondered how anyone can stomach. Then trundled to my room to update the blog. Here I found under the chair of my desk a 2” long earring on the floor that matches the one in my ear.