You know the drill.
Some cool possibility (job, trip, love, child, publication . . .) is dangled out there, but it's not a sure thing. Someone has to decide. You try to be optimistic without setting yourself up for disappointment. For a while, you succeed. Just being nominated is an honor, right? You can float for a few days on just knowing you've gotten this far.
But then, there's the waiting. While you're waiting, it's hard to keep yourself reined in. The longer the wait, the worse that gets.
Part of you has not only counted the chickens that the hen hasn't yet laid, but has eaten the omelets from the eggs of their progeny. Part of you jumped out of the cart and is running out there ahead of the horse waving the black and white checkered flag and yelling about freedom and glory and making people wonder why your face is painted blue. This is the part of me that's always spending lottery money, when I haven't even bought a ticket.
Some other parts of you are the doomsayers. You've been hurt before, they remind you. Someone else rejected this once already. You're setting yourself up for a fall. Those of the parts of yourself you had to silence before you could take the initial risk that got you here. Those parts would give up the whole thing as hopeless, thinking it's better to never try than to fail.
Neither of those are right, of course. No matter how beautiful a fantasy I construct in my cloud castle, I won't be nudging Neil Gaiman down the bestseller list below me this year. But, I might, just might, see my book in print, and that might lead to other things.
And, if these guys don't take it, I'll keep going. I'm in this for the long haul. I can afford to try again. I'm just hoping, that maybe this time, I won't have to.
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