Saturday afternoon, 2:30.
Knock Knock
“Who’s there?” Harriet asked behind the closed door.
“It’s me, Leigh.”
“Oh, so nice to see you,” she said after opening the door.
“I brought you my manuscript.”
“It’s so thin.”
“It’s just the first 50 pages.”
“I’ve been waiting,” she said smiling, her eyes bright.
“OK, you should know there’re some cuss words.”
“Like f**k?”
Well, you could have blown me over.
“And some sex–”
“I’ve had three kids. I know how it works.”
“Of course you do.
Please don’t be afraid to criticize.”
“Oh, I won’t…
I’m taking a “contemporary fiction” course at the university.”
Hmm? Maybe this might be better than I thought…
She might actually have some constructive criticism.
After some small talk, I left.
Saturday night…
Sunday morning…
Sunday afternoon…
Sunday evening, early…
Ringtone Ringtone (finally)
“Hello?”
“Leigh, I love it! Love your style.”
“You do?”
“But you can’t leave me hanging. I want more.”
Of course I grilled her to make sure she wasn’t just patronizing me.
(She wasn't)
And so…
This morning…
Having a “request for more”…
I’m re-reading what I’ve already edited ad nauseam…
Making sure every scene…
Every word, every punctuation is perfect…
For Harriet.
(she's 78, not 82)
And who knows?
I just might get a "request for a full"
In this lifetime!
