I've made it. August is, to me, the longest month of the year. I don't know why, it just feels this way, perhaps because I am always so anxious to get to my birthday, that every day is a slur through life. I was just skimming August's posts and I can see that, somehow, they do not do this momentous month justice. I am stepping into a new decade of my life tomorrow and I am doing so after having received the greatest birthday present ever. I know I said only last month that an agent would have been it; well, I was wrong, or in fact, I was underestimating the joy. Oh no, the best present would be not having to work any longer in my industry.
Wish granted, I am the happiest person on earth right now, I am a lady who lunches, I am walking on (Prada) air. Yet, August was not just waiting for something to happen, it was also Writing Work. So much writing work that I have now completed the full hog consisting of massive book proposal, introduction, opening chapter and epilogue, more than enough for my prospective agent to make her mind up. She did say that she would only be able to get to it by the end of August or beginning of September therefore my friend the time is now. Now, now, now, now. How wonderful to step into autumn, when all new things begin, when nature prepares for the big sleep as people are more active than at any other time of the year. And, I'll tell you what, I cannot wait to enter autumn astronomically; this British summer has been so damn British (i.e., so non-existent), that at least I am now going to be granted proper, wet, miserable, cold, cosy days as the calendar commands. Ah, bliss!
