So this happened yesterday:

Me: But damn, the Secret Service was giving me the eyeball.

Co-worker: Well you do look pretty

Me: Thank you!

Co-worker: suspicious today.

***

So yeah, I was near a former U.S. president. He came to visit my day job, which is at once not surprising — it’s a major location, though not the headquarters, for a multinational corporation — and fascinating — because it’s where I come to work every day, and we don’t see many folks from outside the firm, VIPs or not. I did not meet him, did not shake hands, any of that, though I was posted strategically close to my “baby,” a 20- by 15-foot interactive touchscreen detailing the firm’s history and culture.

I did get the up-and-down from Secret Service agents, but was conspicuously wearing my work badge and also had been approved in advance or some such thing.

Honestly, more important in my life is that last weekend I heaved my utter disgust with my own writing to one side, finished revisions on a manuscript, wrote a base query letter, and started tailoring it and then sending to agents. I know that’s a process akin to winning the lottery, but I’m out there workin’ it now, which feels really good.

Plus it gives me the mental excuse to start writing the next one, partly because I’m not sure the two *other* completed manuscripts would find an audience so early on.