My heart is pounding as if I’d just been running a race.
All I did was push “Send.”
I find it interesting, in a curiously analytical way, that one little finger drop, a quarter inch of movement, can cause such palpitations.
The last time I felt like this, I was dropping a manuscript into the mail.
And so I am again, I suppose.
A short story is off to a Big Contest.
Big as in: Famous judges. Serious cash.
This is the kind of contest that
has professionals entering:
the ‘in some circles rather famous’
kind of professionals.
I’m joining the game, and now begins the wait.
How close to their skill am I?
Will my entry wallow in the ‘not quite there’ pile
or shine in the ‘consider this’ pile?
I’ve done all that I can do.
and my heart pounds a tattoo of farewell.
Now we wait
to see which possibility