Well, not quite.
Some of you might be aware that I devoted two months of my life to running a contest for the Chick Lit Writers of the World Chapter of RWA. Well, we’re nearing the final showdown. I have only ONE judge left to hunt down in the concrete jungle before I can inform the lucky winners and requestees. So that’s good.
And, I got the first response from the recent spate of submissions. Rejection, natch (if it weren’t, you’d hear me shouting). Form, natch, because the request was by phone, and there’s nothing like a “Dear Writer” letter to convince you that nothing you think means “thisclose” actually does. As Jenny Crusie said in a recent RWR column, you’re only close if there are five minutes left in your auction and your agent’s on the phone. Close only counts in hand grenades.
And not fifty seconds after lamenting to Sailor Mom about how I hadn’t yet heard from one of my job prospects, they called me up to ask for a third interview.
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