Did Someone Say "Publish"???

So, I have been reveling.

Last week, I got a very leading email inquiring about a manuscript I sent out a million years ago. Was it accepted elsewhere? Did I retain all the rights to the poems published in other places? It ended abruptly with "call me after 5" (which I took only to mean that it was someone's home number) and the number.

I didn't want to get my hopes up, because that usually only leads to disappointment. I did, however, wait until after the kids had gone to bed so I could hear this poor guy out. I called my husband and read him the email. He said it sounded promising, and that I should call the guy. I paced. I sweated. I fantasized.

Finally, when the last little beast had lain down to bed, I sat at my desk and read the email again. It DID sound promising. I picked up my phone, dialed the number and got a woman, who was probably the editor's wife. She didn't sound suspicious that I was calling her husband at 8:30PM. I took that as a good sign.

I answered the editor's questions that he had asked in the email. He followed my answers with "then I have good news for you" at which point I think I began holding my breath. The room began to waver, and I got hot. Hotter than I think the 56 degree Duluth day warranted. Baking in the sun in Arizona July hot. I had to remind myself to breathe, both in and out, as he told me Slipstream would be publishing my manuscript. I thanked him profusely, told him he had made my life and then promptly hung up on him.

I don't think he was done telling me what he wanted to tell me though, because he called me back two minutes later, and I almost didn't hear the phone I was hollering so loudly. My neighbors must think I am out of my skull, or severely abusive to my children. Because who yells "YES" at the top of their lungs from their front porch at 9PM? This gal, that's who.

I answered the phone and made a list of all the things Slipstream needed from me ASAP. This included a publicity photo, which I ended up taking myself with my phone, after desperately searching through my pictures of myself (all 4 of them) and combing the internet for someone who could pass as me. Did I mention my hair is at the worst possible length for photos? Did I mention that my double chin was nearly a goiter? Did I mention the bags under my eyes were even more pronounced after 5 straight night shifts? Did I care? NO!

I am getting a book. My very own book. 33 pages of all me. Mine, my own. Slipstream is going to market it for an entire year on their website. It's so surreal. And now I have to con writerly folks I know into saying something nice about this manuscript so their names can draw folks in. I hate asking for favors like that. But the things they say are the best part of the whole deal.

That and the prize money!