"Get Mail!" my two year old son insisted as we reached our driveway. Of course the mail had not come yet, it was only nine in the morning. The flag was still up. My query letter was still in there.
I opened the mail box and for a moment I felt like taking the letter out. It was not the fear of rejection, no, I expect that. It was the fear of success. There is a tiny, remote possibility that the letter in my mailbox this morning could set off a chain of events that would lead to my becoming a successful, published author. As badly as I want that, I know it could also destroy me. Success is dangerous, even in small doses. It tends to make one think one is somehow more important.
I left the letter in the mailbox.
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