“When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right up on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize I drop down to earth with a thud. But really, Marilla, the flying part is glorious as long as it lasts. . .it’s like soaring through a sunset. I think it almost pays for the thud.” 
–Anne of Avonlea, L.M. Montgomery

The book is going to acquisitions next month.  It’s really happening.  I knew that a yes or no would come fairly soon, but now I know it’s coming SOON.

March is the month.  Good things about March.  One of my favorite people on Earth, Kristin Brown, was born in March.  March is the last name of the awesome family in Little Women.  March is one month closer to summer than February is. 

On the other hand, Caesar didn’t have such a great March.

While I wait for March, I pretend things are normal.  I cook the dinners, read to the boy, plan the lessons, keep the house from becoming a den of filth.  And I write, on weekends.  As much as I can.   But no matter what I’m doing, I’m waiting.  Waiting, waiting, waiting – and wanting.  Like Penelope. 

I feel like I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life, but that’s not true.  It’s just that it’s been a very long time since I’ve allowed myself to want something this much, creatively. 

When I decided that theatre was no longer the right path for me, I became pretty careful about letting myself dream big. The part of me that’s freaking out right now, all fear and hope and mayhem, is a part that’s been long dormant. Now it’s awake, as much as when I was 21 and first moved to New York with a backpack and a couple hundred bucks and no idea what I was getting myself into.  I feel like Sweeney Todd.  “At last, my arm is complete again!”  (But, you know.  Without all the throat slitting and people eating.)

March is the month.

I’ll keep you posted.