It's Too Late Now...

for me to change a word, to move a sentence, to worry about timing, to obsess about the response - or the lack thereof.

The envelope (containing a one page query, a four page synopsis, and a nine page excerpt) is in the mail - somewhere in the bottom of a mail delivery truck, perhaps sitting between a contract and a love letter. 

On Monday, the mail man will deliver it to the receptionist or the assistant at the agency.  The agent will get the envelope before the day is over.  Maybe he'll open it, maybe he'll look at the name of the sender and throw it on top of the pile.

Someone will open it sooner or later - and it will either garner an immediate response (half a percent chance), be placed in a maybe pile (five percent chance), or land in the recycle bin (ninety-four and a half percent chance).

Next!