Courage fills me to the brim, until I seal away my entry in an oversized envelope. It feels like I’ve just sectioned off a piece of my soul.
Courage doesn’t leave entirely until the stamps are on and the lady at the post office takes my entry from me and I turn and walk away.
“Do you think I can go take my letter back?” I ask, pulling at the sleeve of my shirt, after we’ve rounded the corner of the post office.
“No. Once you hand mail over to Canada post it becomes their property. You can’t get it back.”
My stomach twists and for a good five minutes I’m horrified by what I’ve done. My mom keeps talking but I’m not listening to her. By the time we walk back to the car reason has overpowered the fear.
I realize it doesn’t matter if I win this competition I entered. It doesn’t matter what they say about the writing I submitted (even if they toss it in the garbage). Because win or lose I gave it a shot.
And if I want to be a writer I’m going to have to put myself out there someday.
So why not start today?Word Of The Day: Ascian - one that has no shadow; specifically: an inhabitant of the torrid zone where the sun is vertical at noon twice a year.
****I recognize this post is short. Shortest yet (and who knows, some of you may appreciate this fact) and I haven't met my quota for this week either. I tried to write this post and another post sooner but I have a one track mind at the moment. And I don't want to post about it (this life-altering event) until everything is settled down. At the moment I am working out the kinks. Everything will be finialized soon though, as things are time-sensitive, and then I will tell you, and be able to exorcise it and thus, write about other things.