by Brian Mullen
Not a real baby, mind you, but my manuscript. I've written a novella and have sent it off for a contest. Every year the Miami University Press hosts a novella contest where first prize is publication. Entries this year must be postmarked by November 1 and the winner will be announced in May, 2008.
And I must wait. In silence.
My mother would probably call this poetic justice for when she sent me off to college for the similarities are uncanny:
My baby will not call or write me to tell me how it's doing. I was notoriously bad at keeping in contact while I was gone as well.
I will only know my baby has arrived safely. I sent it "delivery confirmation" and can track it's progress on-line. My mom knew I had arrived at college safely by dropping me off there.
My baby will be off being judged by others - getting graded, passing or failing, being talked about (maybe), based completely on its own merits. There is nothing I can do but hope I've molded it into the best it can be and offer the occasional prayer and good wishes.
But I do have an option available to me that makes a difference. I guess my mother had the same option but chose not to. However, as a writer, I must take this option for my own survival. While my baby is out in the real world, unable to contact me, and I unable to contact it, I will be focusing on something new.
I'm going to make another baby.
3 comments:
Good luck, Brian! Congratulations on getting to the point that your baby has graduated and is off in the big, bad world.
Good luck, Brian.
And from someone who has read it, it looks like a winner!
Gee, Brian. If you were an actor, I'd say, "Break a leg." What should a writer say? "Break a laptop?"
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