ROW80 Report:
- I received a rejection letter.
- I registered for a writing retreat.
- I found my car.
#1 was easy. I opened my e-mail and there it was.
I did not wail, Alas!, and fall to the floor in a faint. I said, Okay, I’ll send the story out again.
A fair and balanced response.
#2 was a little more difficult. I held out until the last day, weighing my options: Retreat or new chair, retreat or new chair…
Friend Emmie helped me with the decision. She said, “Listen, the chair will fall apart whether you go or not. And when it does (after you’ve gone to the retreat) you will be amused at the incident and will write a great bit on your blog which will make all the folks that read it very happy.”
I value Emmie’s advice. She knows what I want to do, and she always tells me to do it. Her justification misses the point, and I don’t know how I’ll blog, or make anyone happy, after the chair collapses and I’m buried in the rubble. But I’ll think about that tomorrow.
#3 proved more difficult. Because of street maintenance scheduled for today, David parked my car on a designated side street. I forgot to ask which side street. Wanting to use the car, I called David at work and asked where he had left it. He told me. I tramped down the street and around the corner.
The car wasn’t there, but the street had been plowed up. We hadn’t been told that street would be plowed up. We had been told to park there.
I asked two young men manning some kind of truck where they thought the car might be.
They said they were just subcontractors and didn’t know anything, but that it hadn’t been impounded, just towed somewhere else so they could plow up the street, and they were sorry. I said I understood and it was okay.
One of them gave me John’s phone number. The number bore a Fort Worth area code.
I called John and got his voice mail. I left a message. Then I tramped back to my air conditioning.
Did I mention the temperature was approaching triple digits?
John called me. He said he was just TXDOT and he didn’t know where the car was and he was sorry.
I said I understood and it was okay.
He said it was probably on Summersby.
I said, No, that’s the street we were told not to park on.
He said he was sorry but he didn’t know anything and it was definitely on Summersby.
I said Summersby is only two blocks long, and I had stood on the sidewalk and looked both ways, and the car really, really wasn’t on Summersby.
He said what kind of car was it.
I said I didn’t know, because I wasn’t sure which one my husband had taken this morning.
He said there was a blue car down on Silverdale.
I said that was my car, and thank you so much.
He said he was so sorry but he was just TXDOT.
I said I understood and it was okay.
I hung up.
As soon as I did, David called to say he had found the car on Silverdale and was driving it home.
Technically, I suppose, I didn’t really find the car. David did. But I did extensive research that produced the desired result. Except by then I couldn’t have cared less.
I had no intention of hiking down to Silverdale until Hell froze over.
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To see how other ROW80 writers are doing, click here.
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- Why ROW80? Why not? by Nancy Poehlmann (aroundofwordsin80days.wordpress.com)
M. K. Waller 
I still think you ought to put these together and publish them. LOL!
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Maybe…
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Sounds like you had an exciting few days! I received a rejection this week also (well kind of a short list was released for a YA novel contest and my book wasn’t on it!) No tears shed this time though so I am getting better at it! Good luck for next week…
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I was a little surprised at how calmly I took this rejection. Perhaps I’m growing up?
Do you talk about your novel? Or are you keeping it close for the time being?
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So glad the rejection letter merited only a couple of sentences … and that you signed up for the retreat … and that you got your car back. Sounds like a big day — but hopefully a good one, in the end.
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At day’s end, I was weary but happy–a good 24 hours. But next time I’m going to know where the car is before I set out.
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I love retreats. I think the immersion into writing or a story, even for a weekend, is so valuable. I could do one every weekend….Wouldn’t that be the life? Enjoy, Kathy!
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That would be the life, all right. Although I’d prefer retreats all week and real life on weekends.
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I loved this blog and the way it was written. You had me right there with you in your day’s journey. Glad you chose the retreat, sorry about the rejection but just the fact you sent something out is a big brag, and glad your car was found. I ended your blog with a chuckle in my throat and a big smile on my face. That’s good writing.
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It’s always nice to hear that a reader chuckled and smiled. When I have days like that, I go along writing the story in my head. Can’t help it. I think it eases the discomfort. (In other words, I’m always talking in some form or fashion.)
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Oh my heaven, your day sounds like one of mine. I truly hope it got better.
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You have those, too? I’m so sorry. But they do give us something to write about.
I love your blog: “Stay a while and I’ll tell you a story.” Who could resist?
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Your friend, Emmie, is the kind of friend every woman needs. Very sage advice she gave you.
I was to do a retreat this summer, not sure what happened.
Sorry about the rejection letter. What do they know anyway?
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Emmie is a treasure. In many ways.
I imagine you have some interesting retreat spots, at least more interesting than Texas in summer.
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Those guys who sent the rejection letter will be sorry when you’re rich and famous. What did someone say about Fred Astaire after a screen test? ” Can’t sing, can’t act. can dance a little.” was it?
Glad you found the car in that heat. And I just know the writing retreat was the right call. When you’re famous you can print our the e mail, dance on it, and buy a swanky new chair.
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I read last night that e. e. cummings dedicated a book of poetry to all the editors who had rejected it. I might add that in, too.
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Boy, what a mixed bag of a day. I agree, good call on the retreat! And thank you so much for linking to my post. I’m flattered!
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Your post explained ROW80 so well, I wanted to share it.
I’m glad my thesis adviser didn’t tell me I had to marry the library. I might have run the other way.
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