When the Big Blues hit

And I'm not talking about my big blue hunky men. 'Cause, well, if they hit, I'd just hold on for the ride. *interject lascivious grin*

No, I'm talking about the 'will the publishing world ever notice ME?' blues. They hit nice and squarely into my chest this morning when I opened up the letter from RWA with my contest scores awaiting me inside.

I had five scores: 9...8.5...6...5.9 and 5.1

Now, why couldn't the last three be of the mindset of the first two, I ask? I know it's a subjective contest, but man, oh man! To have two judges score me so close to a 10 and three others put me in the 50-60th percentile just confuses me. And yes. It gets my feathers all ruffled, too. How else does a writer react when their novel, their baby, their fear-happiness-tears-joy-sorrow-another macandcheesenight all rolled into one, gets rejected? When we get told by the mark of a pen that what we've poured our heart and souls into isn't good enough, how do we handle it? Me? I just sat for a minute and let the hurt have its way with me.

Then I shored up my confidence and moved on.

Is the sadness still there? Yes. Will I be rejected, turned down, and/or ignored again? Certainly. But I haven't given up the fight yet! Nor do I plan to any time soon.

So who's the Fool?

As my office place is abuzz with those who live to trick our other unsuspecting coworkers--sanitizer on the phone mouthpiece, tape over the wireless mouse detector, flat tires, holes and mysterious brown spots that don't exist--I'm reminded of one particular April Fool's Day when the joker became the jokee.

ME.

Yes, me. Now, I'm not one to typically pull pranks. Imagination with writing aside, I'm a pretty straight-laced kinda gal. Accounting degree--check. OCD tendancies--check. Organizational skills beyond reproof--check in triplicate.

This particular year, though, as I innocently drove down Ambassador Caffery Parkway on my way to meet my parents and husband for breakfast at IHOP, I decided I was going to pull one over on my husband. He, who always (with good reason) was concerned we would have yet another child. With a 2 year old and a 10 month old, he had good reason to worry. We got pregnant if we looked at each other too long.

So back to the drive.

I'm on my way with said babies in tow. And thought..."Wouldn't it be funny to make my husband get a look of horror on his face by telling him 'WE'RE HAVING ANOTHER BABY!'"

Yeah. Right. Toooooo funny.

So I do it. Or try to. As I sit down at the table, I fess up on my own, laughingly telling them all how I had planned to April Fool's them. But in the end, couldn't. Yet the joke ended up on me because not a week later, I find out I'm, oh, about 1 month pregnant. Wow.