The application was sent on Monday. 21 pages of manuscript, a 3 page personal essay and a 4 page evisceration of a YA title called Joker — 2 copies of each — along with a check for $50 and the promise that transcripts and letters of recommendation were on their way.
In a lot of ways it felt like nothing. It had been hairy getting those things together — I could probably edit the book manuscript daily for the rest of my freakin’ life and never be finished tinkering with it — the essay and personal statement being somewhat more stressful. How are you supposed to answer questions about your dedication to the craft and your ability to put in the required time for assignments while at the same time trying to sound natural about your earnestness to be part of a writing program?
Honestly, who write a personal essay that says “You know, I’m kinda lazy and I really don’t think I can handle criticism, but, what the hell, man!”
It was a relief to get it out there. Not that I was worried it would get there by Friday (the deadline is September 1st) because Boston to Montpelier, VT is, like, six hours by Pony Express. And the post office was certainly reassuring about it:
“What’s today? Monday? I would think two days… yeah… it should get there by Friday. Vermont? Yeah, I would hope so…”
The United States Postal Service, where Monday to Friday is considered 2 days time. Not to worry, I sent the package with deliver confirmation (35 cents extra!) and, just now, check the website and saw that, yes, it did indeed arrive in two days, this morning at 10:33 AM.
So now it’s just the waiting game. Or for me, the forgetting game, because if I can forget it then I don’t get impatient. It’s all about re-framing the neurosis.
