I am going to post about Bologna later on today after I've finished a few more scenes, but I just had a really weird little moment and had to blog about it.
I have one thousand things on my desk right now, and one of them is a small stack of books from an editor who's hoping I'll love one of them enough to put a quote from me on the front. And on top of this stack is a note on that imprint's letterhead saying "thanks! hope you love them!" or something to that effect.
Anyway, looking at that note and just catching the letterhead out of the corner of my eye gave me a weird squeeze of nerves in my stomach, just like it used to when I was a new bambi writer, sending hopeful manuscripts off to publishers. I'd include an SASE for both the manuscript and for just a letter in case they loved it. Seeing that letterhead just now reminds me of those days of getting a slender envelope back from publishers and sitting breathlessly in my little half-dead Audi in the parking lot of the post office and opening the envelope, hoping against hope it would say anything better than "Dear Author, thank you for thinking of us, but no dice."
There was always that tight moment of anticipation and hope as I slid out the reply on publisher letterhead.
And now I have one of those coveted letterheads sitting on my desk under a stack of books that an editor asked me to look at. And it was such a strange reversal that . . . I dunno. Life is weird. I wish I could've gone back and told that 18-19-20-21 year old Maggie opening letters that one day, it would be like this.