I survived West Virginia, and had a blast. I got to spend some time with both old and new friends, drank more than I should have, and bought more books than I’ll ever have time to read. But I couldn’t have enjoyed three days more if they’d involved a secluded beach and a cabana boy.

It’s the only vacation I’ve had this year, and between working and throwing my book at anyone who’ll read it, I think I deserved a little R&R. Although, in retrospect, all I did was work and throw my book at anyone who would read it. Hmm. Maybe I’m just not getting this whole “vacation” thing. Anyway, I spent a lot of time with a lot of nice ladies who listened to me blather on about my book, both drunk and sober, and encouraged me to write and not give up. They also gave me a few heads-ups about where to submit my manuscript, so I’ve spent the evening doing just that. And I can’t believe how much of a nervous wreck I am!

Believe it or not (and those of you who know me won’t be shocked by this at all) but public speaking doesn’t bother me. I’m a ham and and attention whore, so any time I get to be the center of attention, I adore it. But standing up in front of a group of people I don’ t know and talking about things I’m only partially informed of has nothing on licking that envelope and dropping it in the mail and waiting for an agent to respond back.

My first agent query almost ended up as a felony crime. I’d agonized over the thing for days, and finally decided to just throw it in the mail and deal with the devil as it came. My workplace has a handy mail box right outside the building on the curb, so I took my little manilla envelope full of all my hopes and dreams and shoved it into the slot. Only to freak out the moment my fingers let go and jam my arm as far as it would reach into the slot, trying to get the envelope back. Maybe I could go over it one more time! Send it to another beleaguered friend! Spell check it just once more to make sure I hadn’t forgotten a period or a semi-colon! I’d crammed my arm further than it ever should have gone, only to look up and find the mailman staring at me as if I’d lost my mind. I only made it worse, trying to explain it to him, so I sheepishly tugged out my poor bruised, mangled, and mashed arm out of the mailbox and slunk inside my workplace, where of course my coworkers had a hoot at my expense.

Why does submitting a query letter freak me out so much? I really don’t know. I think it might have something to do with the finality of it. I will admit, I’m a tweaker. I don’t write so much as I rewrite. And it doesn’t bother me to let other people read my stories because I can always go back and tweak them if I want. Sending off that letter, though, means no more tweaking, missy! It’s all bets down, no holds barred and no turning back. And let me tell you, that is scary with shark’s teeth!

So I’m going to reward my bravery with a nice hot bath now. And then back to work on the books. I have a few things I need to tweak . . .