When I was a teen, I had this *terrible* crush on a boy I went to Upward Bound with. He was from Missouri, and I lived in a border county, so it was not unlikely he would visit from time to time. I did my best to not let him know about the crush (although my adult eyes figure he must have), but I was as pie-eyed as a young calf.
My pining would hit hardest after school. I would race home, cross the railroad tracks (I *did* live on the wrong side of them), and look for his green Duster, a 70s muscle car. You know, boys. Most of the time it wouldn’t be there, and I would sigh meaningfully. When it was there, my heart would do a little flutter, and then I would spend my time shyly avoiding telling the boy about my feelings until the next time.
I recognize the same feeling while I’m waiting to hear back from editors and agents. I keep checking my inbox, and I keep sighing meaningfully, but I hope to eventually have my heart flutter.
Meanwhile, I take solace in Mark Teppo’s advice, quoted from Stephen Gould yesterday: “Don’t worry about what you can’t control.”
Off to mangle some Russian. I have imagined the first scene of the new version of the faerie novel. I’m excited. It’s all action.