A New York-based publisher (nameless for now) has offered me a contract for my novel, Wait a Lonely Lifetime. This news is now 48 hours old. Where have I been? What have I been doing? How am I taking this so much in my stride?
This is a life-long dream come true and it feels so inevitable. So cool? So it hasn’t sunk in? So life goes on and I still have to get up and go to work?
You bet. Bills and laundry don’t wait just because you get a publishing contract. Letters, cards, emails, comments on my FB page, clever responses to cryptic notices on LinkedIn, a few more friends and connections.
Where does it all end? And how do I get back to writing the next book?