Back in January, it took six days after I got the offer of representation from my agent for it to hit me that it had happened.
The day I accepted his offer was one of my long days at the office (a twelve hour shift). I called him first thing upon my arrival, squeed a little with my coworkers, and went about my day (mostly) like normal. It was only when I was driving home that night that it actually hit me: I did it. I've been trying to get an agent for so long, and now I have one!
At that point, I burst into tears and sobbed the rest of the way home. (In a good way, though.)
But after receiving news of the offer from Pulse in early May and later accepting that offer, I did not have a similar reaction. Sure, I teared up when I walked into my surprise party and saw that so many people had gathered together on such short notice for me. And I've been excited and pleased and all those good things when I've thought about this whole my-book-is-getting-published concept. But I didn't actually cry. I didn't experience that release of emotion and that total realization that I'm getting something that I've wanted most of my life. It's felt distant. Like, I do believe it's real with the logical part of my brain, but the emotional part was holding back on celebrating. With tomorrow officially being three weeks into things, I honestly thought I wasn't going to make the switch in my head.
I'm glad to say that I was wrong in that prediction.
This is similar to the way I sit on the couch in my upstairs office (except, I am not generally wearing such short shorts or posing for a camera):
Most often, I sit on the armrest for one of three reasons: 1) I've received a phone call and want to give the caller my full attention (which I might not do if I stay at my desk), 2) I'm taking time to think through something I'm writing and want to get away from my desk to clear my head, or 3) I've heard a car pull into the driveway and I'm checking to see if it's my husband.
This is the view from my office window looking one certain way (which could be northeast. Or not. I'm bad with directions):
If I am on the phone, I am looking in this direction and staring at the two tall trees most clearly in focus left of center. (Those are the trees, in fact, that I stared at while my agent was talking to me for the first time and I responded by saying, "I'm sorry. Can you please repeat that?")
Still with me?
Okay, so I joined the group, which is a very cool place for YA writers whose books are debuting in 2010. (And anyone can add the group to watch it, just so you know!) This afternoon, I was scanning through entries from the weekend and happened upon this post by in which she lists Ten Things [She] Learned from Teen Bloggers.
I saw "Seth" mentioned in the post and thought for the briefest of moments that the reference was to my Seth character (which wouldn't have made sense in context and wouldn't have been possible anyway. But you know how it is when you're reading something and a name you're used to seeing sticks out at you? Yeah. It was like that). I left a comment and mentioned my temporary shock before it clicked that it was an entirely different "Seth" being discussed. Trish responded with: Not your Seth, but, Mindi... they're looking forward to your book!
I saw her comment, smiled, and got up from my desk to head downstairs to make dinner. I thought to myself, That's so cool. I'll have to remember to tell Dwayne [my husband] about that.
But before I'd even gotten to the stairs, what I'd just read actually HIT ME. Tears started to fall as I detoured and made my way to the couch. I watched the trees out the window while my crying continued for the next few minutes. It was such an amazing and unbelievable thing. The realization that there are readers out there -- from my target audience even! -- who have heard about my book. And they are looking forward to it!
I mean, wow. How freaking awesome is that?
Truly, if there's anything better, I sure don't know what it is right about now.