No, not my son, Luke. My other baby…my middle grade manuscript that I gave birth to three years ago. Alright fine. More like four years ago.
Today I sent him out into the world, all on his own, to see if he will be adopted by the loving editors at Dutton. I picture him sitting on their front door step, shivering from the New York cold. “It was so warm and cozy back on my mommy's laptop in California,” my manuscript will say.
The editors will crack open their doors early in the morning, push back the black snow, look down, and there they will find my cute little shivering manuscript. “He's so adorable!” they'll say. “Let's keep him! Can we? Can we…please?” They'll plead with their publisher, and she will reply, “Now we can't go keeping every sorry looking manuscript that shows up at our door. What are we? A publishing zoo!?”
And the editors will say, “But look at his unique voice and his story arc and his adorable little ending!”
The publisher will scratch her chin, tickle my manuscript behind the ears, give a little smile and say, “Hell no. Throw him out the back of the station wagon when no one's looking.”
At least, that's what I think will happen.