The book received its first rejection. I won't be posting every little update about that, because what if a publisher who loved my manuscript stopped by my blog before accepting it and saw a post titled "Rejection Number 15 - and counting"? Said editor would probably decide not only to reject it after all but quite possibly to get out of the business. The book will head out on another round of possible publishers before too long, and I will hold my breath and hope against hope and not email my agent at all and try to pretend getting published is barely even on my to-do list. I was wondering tonight if I should stop blogging so that I can focus on the next book instead. Some people don't get published at all until they have written more than one book. That makes me feel anxious to get the next one done. But I can't give up the blog. It's the writing that people are actually reading. A few of you anyway.
I go for a check-up on Friday. One of those checkups. The cancer ones. It's been about six months I think. I barely think about cancer at all between checkups. Then when I hit that familiar waiting room it all comes rushing back like breakfast when I'm pregnant. I fidget and think about old people and how I'll probably never be one. I start counting the million rays of radiation that will have been shot into my body by the time I'm forty and how many other cancers are so much more common than the one I had and are therefore probably just waiting their turn to surprise me.
Usually after seeing my surgeon, I'm all better. He's very "yellow". He always makes me feel that I really am cancer-free and that even if I wasn't he could totally handle anything cancer can dish out. So I'm looking forward to Friday after 1 p.m. When it comes, I'm going to feel very, very pink.