A Letter to you dear Mannie

Dear Mannie,

It has been two years, two months and fifteen sixteen days since you left me, wrapped up in a manila envelope, your destination clearly marked. I fretted over your departure. Were you heading out too soon into the cruel, cruel world of publishing? Two years, two months and fifteen sixteen days ago, you were but a query, a synopsis, and a few sample chapters. You weren’t all there, but most of us aren’t. I wasn’t about to hold that against you. I hoped the publisher wouldn’t either.

It was a start, and we all must start some place.

If things went well, you made me promise to send you off in your entirety when the time was right. I kissed you farewell, secretly cringing at the thought of you being gone. But like most things, I talked myself into believing that your leaving was well timed, and a necessity. You needed to spread your wings, dear Mannie. It was your rite of passage.

I’ll be honest.

There was a time when you disappeared from my mind. Shocking, yet still it is the truth…I began working on something new, something fresh, something that gave me new purpose and a reason to get up in the morning.

What could you expect?

I heard not a peep, not even one little word, no phones call, email or notes, to let me know that you were doing fine. Surely I deserved that much.

Finally, I could stand your silence no longer. I prodded you, gently so, but still…. I sent an email saying, remember me? Ah and you did!! I jumped for joy!

You, of course, had an explanation, you’d been busy checking out the publishing world, picking up useful information, marketing strategies — for when you become a book—oh, and let’s not forget editing tips. At least that was your story, although I choose to believe that you spent a great deal of time lounging around instead. But let’s not go there.

If my gentle nudge accomplished anything, it made you feel incomplete.
You hadn’t thought to ask me to send the rest of your pages. I might have thought you would have felt a bit naked before then, but that obviously wasn’t the case. So I slipped your remaining pages into another manila envelope, affixed the postage, sent them off with a kiss and a prayer. I waved goodbye as the mail driver drove away

We were making progress.

I tried not to second guess you, really I did. But one day I peeked into your file. I didn’t like what I saw. I knew right then and there I had to do something.

The revisions were painless for you, but oh so necessary for me.

I even screamed once, “What the heck was I thinking?” letting you go off into the cruel, cruel world of publishing like this. I took away words. I gave you more words. I changed your point of view— first, then back to third. I gave you a whole new chapter of your very own, something I should have thought to do before you went away. I took full responsibility.

And so, Mannie, I hope you are not angry, sulking away in some corner. You’ve been gone so long that I won’t be the least bit upset if you decide to come running home. In fact, I’ll throw a party for you. I’ll write, “Welcome back, Dear Mannie, some things were not meant to be.”

But until that time comes, I shall wait……

Posted by Laura Best on December 7, 2010

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