And now, the news all three of you have been waiting for, the revelation that I sat on for 24 whole hours, the carrot on the stick, the light at the end of the tunnel...
I HAVE RECEIVED AN OFFER FOR PUBLICATION!
Oops! Are you all right? Here, take a whiff of these smelling salts. Hope there was no structural damage to your noggin when it hit the tile. I am not responsible for accidents, you know.
Last August, I submitted a little 679-word rant cleverly titled, "Dear McDonald's Manager," to the folks at Unsent Letters. And yesterday, on an official U.S. holiday, when I had no expectations of anything other than my cedar-sided home being torched by an errant bottle rocket, I received an e-mail at 4:36 p.m. while I was whipping up some supper. The offer is for publication on the Unsent Letters blog this summer, and in the book to be released sometime in 2013. I would be paid with real money for both formats. In addition, I would receive one copy of the book, and a matching bookmark. A bookmark, people! Have I hit the big time, or what? All I have to do is respond if I agree to the terms, and await a contract.
Of course, I'm not counting my chickens until I have my money and my bookmark in my hot little hands. I could be bumped from the book like a chicken snatched from the yard by the jaws of an errant neighbor hound. But this is still great news for me. I'm pending publication, people! Pending publication!!!
I don't mean to brag, but the offer is in the mid two figures. And don't forget that bookmark! I'm not even depressed that they are not paying me in gum. Or in gold coins that I could keep in a cloth bag, like Fagin in Oliver! The movie. Not the book. Surely you don't think I have time to read a classic such as Oliver Twist for fun. The House of the Seven Gables spoiled that for me. But forget about that wordy Nathaniel Hawthorne and let's get back to ME. I'm going to be published for writing down a snarky complaint. My life as a smart-mouth b*tch (my persona according to Hick), has finally paid off. If only Doolittle Lynn was here, or even Tommy Lee Jones, he might say, "You know, Val, we may have found something you know how to do!"
After all these years of expressing myself on my super secret blog, taking money for writing seems somehow untoward. Inappropriate. This cow feels like she just hung out a shingle for the world's oldest profession. And I don't mean carpenter. Then again, if you have a talent for something, I suppose you might as well charge for your services. As long as it's legal, of course.
There might even be a bookmark in your future!