As the Little Fluffy Cat knows, after the blush and triumph of finally finishing my book wore off, Monday morning I received an email of the upcoming activities at the Writers’ Conference. It’s action packed from morning until late night with presentations, food (! a plus, I thought I was on my own there…) and a hotel more full of agents, editors and publishing houses than I could imagine in my lifetime.
My business cards arrived at my son’s house, addressed to him, so he opened the package. They’re beautiful! All that worrying and hair-pulling (we know I don’t have much hair) for nothing.
Then, of course, came the bad news. Well, more bad news. My fear level is at an all time high. When Friday comes, I hope I can remember my name. That’s bad news number one.
Now I learn in order to participate in the “speed-dating” event, I must have a synopsis of my novel.
Synopsis? Gah… I thought my “job” was finished and it was on to the editing. I was looking forward to red marks and streamlining my baby from a chubby blob to something sleek and muscular. Whodathunk that I’d have to have a synopsis, too? The word hasn’t been in my vocabulary since college. What the hell was a synopsis, no, what was a good one?
I sent out word to Little Kitty, who emailed me more information than I could possible absorb. I printed every email out, and every link to every page. (My eyes can’t handle a lot of words on a computer screen.)
I find I work best under pressure, which is why deadlines are no problem for me. In the yearbook biz, you set a deadline for your schools that is about a week before the actual deadline for you. It’s called a cushion, and although I was supposed to be finished with the book by December 31, completing the task on February 9 at 1:05 p.m. was actually not bad for me. However, a few things happened on Monday which made for concentration to be a commodity in short supply. Writing that day was crazy.
My #2 girl came in to inform me she had an abscessed wisdom tooth. Why did she wait until the day before my trip to go to the dentist? And on a Monday, the busiest day of the week? She lasted three hours and left. Then a call came in from Ms. MiniD, who reminded me I needed to put her ADD medicine in the box I was sending her. I hadn’t taken her prescription to the pharmacy yet. I also had to finish the laundry and pack, and with the conference, I had laid out just about everything I owned and nothing seemed right. (Except for those new pumps I bought. Black, stylish, and tres comfortable.)
The day was long and hectic. I was practically chained to my desk until 6 p.m., and people, when you get there at 8 and don’t get up but once to use the facilities, that is a long, long day. I can sometimes write during my day job, but with all the stress and the phones ringing, my attempt at crafting my synopsis was lame-o.
Tuesday morning, before going to the airport, I had to pick up my own cholesterol prescription, mail the box to Ms. MiniD, and get the rest of the junk off my desk by 10. I also had to email a corrected yearbook proof to a school, because they were going on winter break at the end of the week.
My husband was being pokey, as per usual. When he wants to go somewhere, he is waiting in the car with a pained expression on his face. When I want to go somewhere, he has to go to the bathroom, grab a cup of coffee and lose his car keys. These are the keys to the brand new Hyundai which he lost the afternoon the car was delivered back in September. It appears there was only one key since it was a repo, and to get another one took several hundred dollars and a lot of legwork, which is why the car sat all winter under two feet of snow.
If you saw his office, you would know why he loses things. If he were to die tomorrow, I swear, it would take three or four years to wade through the junk. It’s not just papers, under those papers are tons of pens and pencils, personal letters and at least a hundred keys, most of which he doesn’t know where they belong too. I also happen think my husband and I are both pre-Alzheimer-y now that we are in our 50s.
Anyway, he finally located the keys, but he was lackadaisical about getting to the airport. That’s because he took two phone calls and he tends to weave while on the phone. Somehow I made it to the airport in just enough time to get on the plane. Now I am sitting in my hotel room, where I hope to get a decent synopsis finished before Friday.
Thank goodness for that cushion.
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