It was beautiful Milwaukee fall day. I was sitting in one of my coffee shop writing offices (Fiddleheads Coffee on Oakland Ave. in Shorewood, WI), fidgeting because I didn’t feel like writing. Checking my email for the (mumble) time, I saw it. An email from Black Rose Writing. “Oh, no.” Yes, I said it out loud. They were the only publisher reviewing Spirit Sight that offered some hope. If they rejected it, I would face a crossroads. Would I search for yet more traditional publishers, or would I go my own way? It was a decision I wasn’t looking forward to. So, I felt some trepidation when I clicked on the email.
Your submission was very well received. I will send a contact offer to you before the end of the month. Thank you.
Even now, I find myself reading every word, to be sure it says it what it obviously does. Before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of the busy coffee shop, stunned. Then I wept. Not a wet faced, ugly cry, fortunately. More like face in the palms, shoulder shaking. Still, I attracted some curious stares.
After I reread it, I took a picture and texted it to Deb. Then I read it again — you know, to be sure — then notified Kathie Giorgio, the midwife for my baby. And, oh yeah, I have to send an announcement to my smallbutgrowing email list. Next, posted to every social media site I have access to, texted my daughter. Then, after rereading it…one more time…to be sure, I cast about for some other people to tell. Couldn’t think of any, so I went up to the register and told the person working there.
“My first novel, that’s what I do when I sit here for hours, was accepted by a publisher,” I said.
To her credit, she didn’t roll her eyes. “That’s great. Congratulations.”
“Yeah, well…” I pointed to my seat, turned and hurried away.
When I got back to my seat, I had another email. This one was work related. Thud! I might be a not-quite-yet-published-author, but how much does that really change my life. I still have work and all the other worries I had before. Well, except for the gigantic stressor of getting Spirit Sight published. But my day to day won’t change much. Will it?
I’ve always told Deb I have the soul of an artist cursed with no discernible talent. It’s a small thing in an otherwise very fortunate life, a small regret, but not insignificant. My small genre novel may not be art in a snooty highbrow sense, but it represents an artistic expression from a part of me that is coming awake. I know it shouldn’t matter that a publisher valued Spirit Sight enough to publish it, but it does. To me, anyway. In an ephemeral, but fundamental way, the shape of my world has shifted ever so slightly.
