These are not my feet. But, if I could dance like my daughter-in-law Rochelle (the real owner of these elegant feet) I’d have done a few pirouettes and twirls yesterday. Instead, I did a reasonable facsimile of an end-zone happy dance, minus the spiking of the game ball. The catalyst for this strange display was a telephone call from an editor.

It was a busy moment in our medical office, but I promptly dropped the insurance claim in my hand, waved at someone else to cover the front desk, and hustled to a private office with my cell phone. You may expect the next paragraph of this post to detail the six-figure advance I was offered for my latest novel. But, it was nothing like that.

The editor’s message was simple. Another magazine had “passed” on a story I sent, but they forwarded it to him thinking it might be a good fit for his publication. He agreed.

It is rather pathetic, really, how little it takes to move me from the depths of despair to the heights of glory as a writer. I’ve been struggling all week to complete an article that just doesn’t seem to be working. I doubt my ability to write another novel (or publish the two I’ve finished.) Even my Facebook updates seem boring and blah.

Then, along comes a kind editor who calls me in real-time and asks to publish something that was previously rejected! Fast-forward to the mountain top and me doing the happy dance in our front office.

I started another novel this morning.