I am not one who has to throw salt over my shoulder, or double check the mailbox to be sure the mail has dropped in (Um, where else would it go? That one never made sense to me. Dave? Want to enlighten me?), or the stove to make sure it's turned off, or the alarm clock. Or, really anything. The one quirk I do have is the annoying habit of kissing my fingers and then pressing the steering wheel when I run a yellow-turning-red light. I won't call it a superstition; I'll call it I learned to drive in New England.
But, having full manuscripts out with agents has turned me into a superstitious wreck.
If I wait six minutes to check my email, something will be there. Something good.
If I clean out my spam folder, I'll have another request. If I clean out my spam folder AND wait six minutes, it'll be a full request.
If I grade three papers before checking again...and on and on and on.
My mother always told me a watched pot never boils. Well, apparently a watched email inbox never fills up.
Strike that. It does fill up. With a million emails that have nothing to do with my writing. In fact, just this moment, there was an email from Christian Mingle. Now, I'm not Christian, and I'm not single, so I don't think it really counts. Delete. Every once in a while, a rejection slips its way in, too. "Dear Author...". The last one I got was signed by "Staff". The shortest one to date was two words: "Thanks, no."
And then there are the ones who don't answer.
And I wait. And wait. And wait.
And I think about unplugging. And I know I should do a don't-check-my-email-for-two-days challenge, or go somewhere with no wifi or...or...or....
Doesn't matter. It is not going to happen. My email just dinged again. Zulily is selling boots for 29.99.
Always,
Dori
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