Remember back in March when I planted my sweet-pea seeds and wondered how they'd do here?
Oh yes - so very pretty.
I was all about planting the seeds then, about six weeks into what would become The Body Gift. Full of hope and uncertainty.
Now my sweet peas are blooming, The Body Gift is done, but I'm still waiting to gather my rosebuds.
(I know - I'm just full of poetic references these days. No, I have no idea why. I've been working on burning fat. Perhaps the old lines of poetry, like emotional energy and toxins get stored in the fat cells, too? When that cell is emptied, it all dumps into the bloodstream, pathos and literature together.)
What I'm reaping lately is favors. People have been helping me in a way that touches my heart. An author friend wrote an email to her agent introducing me and saying all kinds of nice things. An editor friend gave me a list of agents she likes and told me to drop her name at will. Another author friend maneuvered me at convention to sit next to agent and editor friends.
I'm supposed to be good with words, but they fail me on this.
To have people go so out of their way to help me - well, it moves me. I get a little teary about it. So many people complain about the cutthroat nature of publishing, the competition, the professional jealousy. It's the incredible generosity that stuns me.
The Body Gift has all the help she can ask for. Two of my readers promise me comments soon, so I can take action if the novel isn't snapped up.
If I don't hit it with this novel, it's not because no one cared.
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