It's been a great July so far. I've been to my favorite community pool two times for lap and family swim (best of both worlds), have gone U-pick strawberrying with my daughter, and I finally figured out how to stopper the blow-up Orca whale kiddy pool. It makes for a great cooling off spot in the heat of the day, icy lemonade in hand.
I am trying not to think about the fact that my manuscript is a finalist in two national contests. Both are a 1 out of 10 deal, a 10% chance.
Answer me this: if you had a 10% chance of dying, would you bungee jump? Or climb Mount Rainier? If someone said you were in 90% great shape, wouldn't you take that as a huge compliment?
In other words, these aren't very heartening odds, and I do not expect to win.
What I hate is that being a finalist, if you don't win, ends up meaning "you weren't chosen because clearly you were not the best." There is no way around this; it just IS.
Okay, I contain multitudes. Actually, it could mean "the judge did not groove on your aesthetic" or "the judge hates kids" or "the judge doesn't give a wit about the universe or babies" or "the judge votes no on refrain and music."
I will be hearing any day now from contest #1, and within a month from contest #2. In other words, my next post will either be good news or bad news.
Meantime, I am, like i said, not going to spend more than 30 seconds a day thinking about it.