She stood in the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle, looking at the furniture, the walls, the light from the window, for a sign. Any sign. Please?
Her expectations were lowering like the sun setting behind the Rocky Mountains. Quick like a rock. And yet she shouldered those expectations up again. Shoved them back to that magical place where anything could happen.
Nothing in the room had changed. Her body sagged. Everything looked the same today as it had yesterday and the day before, when she’d also completed the measured spin.
But it can’t be, she thought. It just can’t be. Something has to be different. There must be some kind of proof. Evidence.
She’d imagined flowers arriving daily. Invitations. Gifts appearing out of nowhere. Nothing like that had happened.
Was it all a myth?
A quick check online told her she still had the same 798 Facebook friends. Her bank account had remained (sadly) stagnant at $323.16. And no one from anyplace prestigious had emailed her requesting an interview.
Clean laundry, which she’d had to do herself, was piled on the sofa in the family room, ready to be folded and stowed. Dinner was a mystery, but she’d better figure it out fast and thaw something. Plants needed watering and she needed to run three errands. Today. Because she’d put them off until they absolutely had to be taken care of.
There was one more place she could check. She sat back down at her computer and clicked a few keys, used the mouse to scroll down the page, held her breath.
There! Yes! She read the words carefully. Then again, committing them to memory. She had a review from someone she didn’t know!
She was a writer!
As she folded the last towel, it hit her. The flowers and the gifts, they were a myth. They weren’t proof.
She was a successful writer before that review. She was a successful writer before her book was published.
She’d become a successful writer the minute she wrote “The End” on her first draft.
Now, about that dinner…
It’s all better with friends.