Standing on the Diving Board

When I was a kid, I had to take swimming lessons, which inevitably progressed toward the use of the diving board. I can remember the particular texture of the board, the slight sway and bounce of it, holding my breath and looking down at the smooth clear water and the blue pool floor, getting up the nerve to jump. I was never particularly good at it, and never graduated to the high dive.

I have spent a good part of the past two weeks getting a manuscript ready to send in, writing a cover letter, writing agonized emails to my friends, and moping around at home, alternately optimistic and despondent. I have nipped, tucked, spell-checked, formatted, and moved scenes around, and very soon I am going to have to stop that. I have pictured someone actually opening the thing up and reading the first page, wondering what their expression will say. "Oh God, not another one?" A speculative frown? A sigh, and the thump of 300 more pages hitting the recycling bin?

Makes it hard to sleep.