Let’s rewind a week.
I obsessed over a letter for a few days, thinking about how exactly to write it, what to put in it, what to say…Which can be surmised by simply writing that I obsessed over a letter for a few days. Wow, talk about wasted words.
This letter started out, “Dear—” and ended, “Warmest regards, XXX, writing as Joseph P. Cabit.” Yes, it was a letter to the president of a publishing house. I really hope that she gets my letter, reads it, and sends a response, all in a fairly short amount of time. (Don’t get me wrong—if it takes a little longer to get a “Yes,” bring it on!) Because I can wait the two/three months predicted…Oh, can I ever wait it, cause what else am I going to do? 🙂 But—I don’t know about anyone else—I’d like an answer sooner rather than later.
While my letter is in the slush pile over at XYZ Publishers, it’s just sitting there, waiting, holding its breath. Then, Ms. Publisher will pick it up, and slice it open with her letter opener (It hurts the letter only a little bit, but pain is okay). She will slide out my neatly-(ish)-folded letter, letting it fall open, and run her eyes over the first few lines.
Suddenly, the letter will come to life. This is the moment it’s been waiting for. This is why its author pecked out those specific keys, pounding those specific words into existence. This is why they were born into the world, and this is their time in the sun. This is their time to shine. They will neatly pick themselves up to full-length, feeling a joy in fulfillment. The words will align themselves into straight rows…the dots on the I’s will fluff themselves up to be as big as they can be…the O’s will round themselves out some more…the commas and the periods will try to look as different from one another as possible…my ellipses will space themselves out evenly.
It is their moment of judgment. From hereon, it is either get crumpled up, and thrown in the trash can, or thoughtfully put aside, and…
I love mystery. Why don’t I love this time of waiting in silence?