Diary of a whiny writer, D minus 59

Less than two months left. Why am I not panicking? I know why. I’m waiting to hear back from New York, where I sent the first 20,000 words. Two days ago. It takes that long to get the company lawyers to obtain a restraining order.

But seriously, and here’s the dangerous part, I’m secretly hoping they’ll gush all over it. Because who knows? Maybe it doesn’t reek like the rotted rutabaga in my vegetable bin. Maybe I’m not a total failure. Maybe this wasn’t the most insane idea in, like, forever.

As Glenn Beck can attest, miracles do happen.

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