I’d like to blame the migraines for this, or the fact that Disney overloads certain circuits and it takes awhile to dial back to vanilla in the brain.
I spent the entire night last night in an alternate world where I had samples of my fiction writing handwritten in a red notebook. I kept going from person to person, beginning with my old Poli Sci professor and then following the rabbit trail as they directed, to get someone to read my work. Each time I got to someplace new that person had a goodish reason for handing me off down the line before they either read the work or had time to give feedback. Meanwhile the world was ending for some reason, and my husband was packing all our stuff so we could move away. The urgency to get my stuff read before I moved out was desperate and at one point one of the people told me I should just give up and be an editor.
I woke up before she could tell me if she’d even read my sample.