You were in my dream last night.

I saw you

leaning over your open drawer of tools:

two candles,

a silk handkerchief,

and a set of fountain pens

(the smallest was your favorite).

You smiled when you saw me.

Would I like to borrow something?

No,

I said.

I came to invite you to the party on Thursday. We were expecting friends

and a good time.

You lit a candle and offered it to me.

You wanted me to follow you.

I took the candle and watched it

dripping

from the tiny flame.

I would follow you.

You led me to the mirror in your bedroom.

It wasn't cracked anymore.

You said the flame from my candle

could ignite a door.

It did.

In your world we saw flying cats,

People in masks of black and silver,

A clown in red selling jellyfish.

I had no money, so you

bought me a star in the sky

and a rainbow.

I liked the rainbow

because it made me think of you.

We sprinkled them with stardust

and laughed

and danced

until morning had come

and we returned.

I looked out my window

this morning and saw

a rainbow.

And I remembered,

And I wondered,

Is it mine?

When I was a kid, I remember excitedly waiting with my younger sister for favorite TV shows to come on in the afternoon. I've also waited for new books to come out, orders to come in, and Christmas. That's the fun kind of waiting--the kind where you know everything will go well.

Then there's the other kind. As a full-time writer and a part-time violinist and actress, I've had my share of the bad kind of waiting. I've auditioned and submitted more times than I can recall, to the point where I usually don't even care about the results, just so long as I get something out there. But I can't take that approach to everything.

There's a phone call I've been waiting for all afternoon and now into evening. It's actually not a call for me, though it will affect me. Every time I look at a clock my heart drops a little. A rejection. It's going to be another rejection. Why can't they just call and let us know so that we can move on? I don't know who in my family will be more disappointed.

It came down to a fifty-fifty shot in the end. Yesterday they said they'd call tomorrow and let us know who they chose. Today is drawing to a close, and they haven't called. How can the news be positive at this point?

One of my flaws is that I let my hopes get too high and too quickly. I know that, and I've known it for a long time. It's been the source of a bunch of tears and pain--the idea that I had a chance when I really had none at all. Some people admire that quality they call optimism, but I honestly think it's led to more disappointment than anything else in my life.

Either by a call or by a delayed letter, we'll get the news. I can see it. "We're very sorry, but at this time..." At this time we're doing everything we can. At this time we need something positive. At this time we're trying to move on with our lives, to finally take a step in the right direction.

It was supposed to happen today. We'd get the news, celebrate, and make plans. But now it looks like we'll spend yet another year submitting, waiting, desperately hoping that someone somewhere will see us.

I don't know why I'm doing this. I'm busy, a full-time writer who just signed up to a website about writing out of curiosity, and moments later I'm taking a challenge! Well, free-writing has always been a fun exercise for me, and sometimes I actually get decent stuff out of it. Well, I'm not sure what to write next. Something creative, perhaps? I could try to do an on-the-spot sonnet, which would annoy anyone reading this and turn many others off. People don't like sonnets these days, and most of the modern ones aren't much good anyway. Maybe I could start a story, but, well, now I'm out of words!