Time heals all wounds, time is money, time is the longest distance between two places, time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils. Huh. Google quotes about time, and the pages go on and on. Everyone has something to say about time. Don’t waste it! Use it wisely! It’s relative! It’s a nebulous concept, distorting our already biased perceptions.
I’ve been poking around the writers’ forum. The other day, I tripped over my old username, which I hadn’t been able to remember when I rejoined, so I had created a new one. In keeping with the interests of procrastination, once I found it I ran a search for posts by the old name. The internetz, no such thing as gone for good.
Found a thread discussing looking for an agent, I had posted about receiving a request for a “full” based on a partial manuscript sent, the following day I posted about having received a request for a partial based on pages sent with a query. If you’re reading and you aren’t a writer of fiction, let me tell you, that’s a wild with joy and nerves skip around the apartment until you notice the kids are in a frightened huddle in the corner worthy couple of days. Another member posted on the thread saying I was someone to watch. Quite a compliment. The funny part? Not only don’t I remember posting any of that, I don’t remember the compliment, or the happy dance I’m sure I stomped out for at least a week.
If I had come across the post in some other way without noticing the username, I would have stopped and studied the signature, following any links to see if this person was now published, with a novel(s) available on the market. Talk about a disconnect.
I don’t wish I could go back to that time period, there were many other crappy things happening in my life that I don’t care to relive. Hey, you don’t achieve this trajectory of downward mobility if you’re skipping through the daisies each day. But I do wish I could sift the sands of that time period, find the grains that represent the writing me, and just put those grains in my pockets, so when I’m frustrated I could touch them, roll them between my fingers and against my cheek, to remind myself of the possibilities.