The sun came out after a long bout of rain. What better way to recover, when the sun entices and you have three new CDs, than to hop into the car and careen to the beach? Boiler Bay is south of Lincoln City, close to Depot Bay.
The buttons for the sun roof still work after three months of being shut tight against the rainy gloom. In a small parking area, I settle back into the seat, flip open a book, listen to Mozart and pray seagulls won't fly directly over the opening in my roof.
But I'm anxious. The beta reader has finished the book, but she is away this weekend and I cannot get her review until she returns. This cannot be good. If she liked the book, she would have cancelled her weekend plans and joyously met with me. Right? Right?
What if she hated it? What if the comments are like something my mother would say. "Well, dear, you've written a book. That is quite an accomplishment." Yikes. That ranks right up there with, "Well, dear, you are as pretty as you can be." Which means what? That you are dog ugly, but that is as pretty as you are capable of being?
And I think my book is not really her "genre." In fact, I know it isn't. I can't sit still, even when my favorite part of the Clarinet Concerto comes on. I get out and walk over to the fence, pacing and wiping my damp palms on my sweater.
What if she hated it? What if the comments are like something my mother would say. "Well, dear, you've written a book. That is quite an accomplishment." Yikes. That ranks right up there with, "Well, dear, you are as pretty as you can be." Which means what? That you are dog ugly, but that is as pretty as you are capable of being? What if it is worse? What if she says I should put it in a drawer and take up knitting? What if she says that perhaps I should fill my free time with volunteer work. Or (gasp) housework?
They say that rum is bad for you. I guess I'd better finish it off then.
'What if it is worse? What if she says I should put it in a drawer and take up knitting?'
ReplyDeleteMelanie, that's not going to happen, albeit, I would have the very same fears as you do. Need I elaborate....
Keep us posted. I'm sure it will be fine my friend :)
I could live with the knitting...Maybe. But HOUSEWORK, Good lord!! NEVER! NEVER, I say!!
ReplyDeleteBesides, you get to enjoy the rum, and then find that the review is much better than you imagined! Of course, You'll have to get more rum to celebrate, but that's a whole other problem.
Wendy,
ReplyDeleteIf I ever get published, I'm sure I'll await every review with the same angst. What, then, drives us to write?
:)
Katie, Katie, Katie,
You could feel my terror. I can't imagine being consigned to doing housework. Maybe you should join us for a bottle of wine at Niche after the next Writers Mixer. I'd ask Wendy, too, but she's down under.
I do share you terror of housework (I'm sure there is some way to make that a four letter word!). I avoid it as much as humanly possible. Wine at Niche would be lovely. LOL. Of course, I live in Wine Country so maybe I should invite you to our next "get together" for a variety of samples from the area. And yes, we do like cheese with our whine. LOL
ReplyDeleteKatie,
ReplyDeleteJust say the word. Yummmm.
One day I may be prodded to share with you all how Melanie "helped" me with my housework once, years ago, when I invited her to "make yourself at home" in my apartment... Or does that come under the heading of "What happened in the 70s stays in the 70s"?
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteYou're killing me. Luckily I've admitted to an aversion to housework in a previous post. I think I speak for many writers when I say writing comes first; housework comes seventy-third.
Where's the next installment of this story?
ReplyDeletethe way you used the waves to show the increasing anxiety you were experiencing was FANTASTIC.
ReplyDeleteCarolyn,
ReplyDeleteIt is posted. I was busy revising the end.
Dale,
'Tis the artist in you that reads the thousand words into each picture.