It’s almost cliché to say, but I hate going to the dentist. A week ago, the day before our vacation, the dentist I had finally made an appointment with called to say they had a cancellation and would I like to come in. “No!” I wanted to say. I will never like coming in. But I covered the mouthpiece with my hand, stuck my head into the bathroom and hollered to my husband, “Do we have time for me to run to the dentist?” He said, “Sure.” I retorted, “I might be awhile,” hoping he would give me an out. “That’s fine,” he replied. “Take your time.” Darn. Why does he always have to be so agreeable?
So I accepted their offer and spent the next hour or so having the most uncomfortable x-rays EVER and then a cleaning which involved various instruments of torture. My only consolation was returning to my car and checking my cell phone for messages. I assumed the only one would be from my son, asking when I was coming home as he always does when I’m gone longer than he thinks is necessary.
Instead I had a message from the editor of Austin Family magazine telling me they wanted to run an article that I had submitted to them. I had revamped my haircut disaster story from my blog, and they are now running it in the January issue. Yea!
Then this Monday, I returned from the pediatrician to see my home phone message light blinking. An agent I had queried and sent the first chapter wanted me to send them the full. Another yea! only a bit louder this time.
So yesterday I emailed the file for A Forgiving Season to Office Max and went to pick up the printout. Two guys were working the copy center, and the one helping me couldn’t find the charge slip. So he asked guy number two for some help. Guy number two was at the computer, working with two customers on their print job, and he stopped to pull up my file to check the page count.
One of the women seated across from him, turned to me after reading the screen and asked, “Did you write that?”
“Yes, I did,” I answered.
“The whole thing?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you publishing it?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’m sending it to an agent in New York and hopefully she’ll find someone to publish it.”
“A Forgiving Season,” she said, thoughtfully as she elbowed her friend. “Y’all, we’re gonna remember this day. You’re gonna be on Oprah next year, right?”
“That would be nice,” I said.
“Well, that’s how it starts,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. For some it does. You’re right about that.”
Neat to have someone cheering for me who doesn’t even know me!