I Don’t Know What I Been Told

Last night I was searching for my iPad. “I think it’s downstairs,” Mark said.

“I was just wondering whether I had any email. Perhaps from a Mr. Card?”

“Mr. Card?”

“Comma Orson Scott.”

I knew the deadline for acceptances to Literary Boot Camp was fast approaching, and I was getting a little antsy. But when I opened up my email, what did I have? A lovely invitation to Boot Camp!

Can I just say, it feels enormously validating? I felt good about my application, very good. But you never know, you know? Now I do. Come August I’ll be winging my way to Southern Virginia University, where I’ll be writing and critiquing like a demon, not to mention wearing shoes in the shower for the first time in over a decade. I could not be more excited.

I do not have to send in a full story right away, and my writing group just sent around some emails postponing our Tuesday meeting. All of which means I have another week to work on the story I’ve been liveblogging. Which is a good thing, because Harold is unequivocally kicking my ass.