Finally! Revisions!

I was beginning to think my revisions were coming by Pony Express. After the "dangerous fiction" episode with the Department of Homeland Security, I figured the trip down by relatively benign UPS would be, well benign.

Wrong again, Fluffy.

I get a call from a dispatcher on Friday evening saying that the delivery person had been all up and down my street and found the 1200 block, but not my house at 1131. Couldn't find the 1100 block. Gee, brain trust, there IS no 1100 block--my house, for some unexplained reason, has an 1100 series number. That's what I get for buying the model home. Even if the model home was built in 1970. But I digress.

So I give the dispatcher detailed directions to my house. No package over the weekend. Do you know how anxious you can get waiting for revisions from the agent? Anxious. Monday ticks by, and by the time 6 pm comes and goes, I'm annoyed. I call UPS. The package is on the truck and should be delivered before 7. Right about that time, I can see the truck behind my house, in the cul de sac. The phone rings--it's the driver trying to find my house. I try everything short of semaphore code to convince him that he's found the house--I can SEE THE TRUCK, for heaven's sake--and finally get him steered around front, where he hands off the package like it's a brick.

I restrain myself from dancing into the house. Even better, once I finally pry all the packing tape off, the cover letter is complimentary. Turns out I have less to revise than she thought, and maybe we can get this out quickly. You betcha. I'm hoping to be one of those fabulous "sold at conference" stories. Hey, a gal can dream--and after the horrible karma this poor manuscript has had so far, it's the least the universe can do.