Today is a difficult day. I have been rejected. Well, not officially. There is no letter, email or rejection slip to tell me in black and white that I have been unsuccessful this time. I almost wish there was, painful though it would be to read – it would at least put me out of my misery. Instead as the “don’t call us we’ll call you” deadline approaches, and the Human League’s Don’t You Want Me becomes the soundtrack to my life, I have to make the decision myself to give up wondering: Could that phone ringing be them? Is there news in the letterbox today? Did they even get my stuff? Did anyone actually read it?
I sit back down at my desk. Carefully I open the box to check that they are still there. They have moved a bit, so I fix the fragile folds and smooth down the wispy edges. I wrap the dreams back up in their little shreds of hope. I look out of the window. It is the first day of February today but already I can see the familiar green fingertips of the daffodils poking out of the soil to check the temperature. They return every year, even here, on this wind-whipped edge of the Atlantic. Despite the inhospitable weather, and the fact that my husband destroys their lingering stems with his lawnmower, they always grow back. They keep growing.
So, that is what I will do. I will keep lingering and growing, ignoring the rain and the scythes of the gardeners. I will keep writing – regardless.
Shhh, just a minute – there’s the phone. I’ll be right back…