Dare to Dream

A response to What rejection tastes like... (once again, inspired by Redzilla):

Dare to Dream

Lara’s hands shook as she handed the carefully boxed and wrapped manuscript across the counter to be weighed and metered. She dug around in the bottom of her purse for the crumpled dollar bills she’d scrounged from under the couch cushions to pay the postage, and dropped a handful of loose change on the floor. “Omigod, I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her face flushing crimson. Could the man tapping his foot impatiently behind her see how desperately she dared to hope that this time, this book, would be the one?

As her box disappeared on the conveyor belt behind the counter, Lara had a fleeting urge to leap across and snatch it back. “It’s not ready yet!” wailed a small insecure voice, one Lara barely recognized as her own.

“It’ll never be ready,” scoffed a deeper, more cynical voice. Her father's. “Might as well find that out sooner than later.”

“There, there, Lara. There are so many other things you’re good at. Why don’t you find a nice young man and settle down? You could still write for fun, you know.” Ah, mom. Always ready with a backup plan.

“It’s terrific, hon,” whispered a faint voice, struggling to be heard over the din of traffic outside the post office. “I always knew you could do it.” The voice faded like an echo on the wind.

Lara tucked her head down and turned her collar up against the chilly autumn breeze, and hurried home to fix a nice pot of tea. “Try not to think about it,” she told herself. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

Three months later, having succeeded in pushing her hopes and dreams and fears into the back of her mental closet, Lara opened her mailbox and let out a little gasp of surprise. It was a big, thick 11”x17” envelope, creamy white, with a return address of Doherty & Linnert Publishing. A rejection? Lara felt sure they wouldn’t have wasted so much postage on a form letter. A returned manuscript? The envelope wasn’t heavy enough. Lara clutched it to her breast and ran back into the house.

She carefully placed the unopened envelope on the dining room table. She hardly dared to hope – yet hope she did. And as long as she resisted the temptation to tear open the package, she could hold onto that hope, savor it, and cherish it as surely as if it were real. Lara wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself. Doherty & Linnert Publishing. What a delicious feeling!

Lara made a pot of tea. She grabbed an old mug, then quickly put it back. She reached up for the good china – the special-occasion set her mother had given her when she moved out on her own. She had some imported shortbread in the pantry. Although she was on a diet and had sworn off empty carbohydrates, Lara decided to splurge and made herself a little plate of cookies to go with the tea. She sat down at the dining room table with her tea and cookies, and pondered the envelope. No, surely this wasn’t a rejection. Lara had had plenty of those, and they inevitably arrived in slightly sullied and very ordinary No.10 envelopes. She ran her fingertips across the package – the expensive stationery had a delicious, expensive feel to it. Daydreaming again, she imagined that it contained a three-book contract and a six-figure advance.

Suddenly, Lara broke out in a cold sweat. A three-book contract? Oh, dear God! How could she ever write two more books so quickly, and hope to do as well as she had with this one? Panic engulfed her, swallowed her whole. She felt sick to her stomach and wished she hadn’t eaten the shortbread. She stared at the envelope in horror and dismay. “I can’t! I can’t do it!” she cried. She pushed herself back from the table so quickly that her chair tipped precariously on its back legs.

Lara could swear she heard the voices laughing. “Be careful what you wish for,” whispered one.

“You’re just a one-trick pony,” said the other with a derisive snort.

“I can’t... I can’t...” sniffed a tiny voice, barely audible over the beating of Lara’s heart.

“You’ll never know until you try,” sighed the last, so softly that Lara wondered if she’d heard it at all. 

Comments

[Something Else]

[ﻩﺫﺍ ﻩﻭ ﺎﻠﺤﻜﻣ] Aarg when you leave us hanging!!!

[Holly]

[this is good]

Silly Reader, you expect the Writer to do all the work? I think "The Lady, or the Tiger?" ends the way it ends because the author didn't know, either. He just said, "Oh, screw it - let the reader decide, based on whether he's a glass half full or glass half empty kinda guy." (He knew what the ladies would likely choose - I mean, why else would monogamy prevail over nine tenths of the earth's surface? -  though he hoped there would be an exceptional gem among them whose kindness and generosity of spirit and selflessness would win out.)

Okay, I made that up.

But I have been smacked - literally - over similar endings. Just makes me laugh. I'm still not going to spell it out for you. You tell me how it ends.

 

[RPM]

[this is good] lovin this!!

[Something Else]

OK.  I think she was so nervous about what was in the envelope that she set it on the counter.  She would look at it, even pick it up, every day as she went about her business.  She was called out of town for a week because of a family emergency, and while she was gone, her loving husband piled the mail on her envelope ... so it would all be in one place when she got home.  After weeding her way through the stack of mail, Lara decided to get it over with, and opened the flap. 

The letter said, "Dear Mrs. (insert her last name here), We are very impressed with the manuscript we have received from you.  There is a place for your work in our upcoming series, (insert name of series here).  Please sign the enclosed contract and return it within two weeks.  Our deadline on this series is short, and for this, we apologize.  The portions of your manuscript enclosed are for your approval of the editing changes.  We look forward to many productive years with you on our team."

Lara cried herself to sleep for many nights.

[Holly]

No. That'd be more like a scene from my life. How did you know??

[Something Else]

I based it on my life!  ;~D

[Holly]

Yikes - does that mean we're really the same person??

[RedScylla]

Let's see, in my version, she finally opens it and it is indeeed NOT a rejection letter.  Unfortunately, the letter opens "Dear Ms. Sandra Smith," because the publisher's office assistant screwed up and sent the wrong packet to the wrong writer.