because in the past twenty-four hours, everything went right:
-at 1 a.m., it hit me. It. Whatever it is. But it hit me and I wrote straight towards 2 a.m., rearranging words, finding connections, honing in, cutting down, seeing directions in what had been vague outlines.
-The Publishing Industry, 10:05 a.m.
Phil: Did you hear about the College Writing Contest yet?
Me: No, why?
Phil: You won something.
!!!
(Of course, I checked my e-mail and found nothing. But apparently it's true. :-))
-2:29 p.m. "The examencitos weren't too bad," Prof says, handing back the papers. I see a red mess on top of mine and arrows all over - pointing to a 97. (Which, of course, really helps in figuring out a life direction!)
-8:30 p.m. "That was that day. This is today!" Emeline declares after I express my fear of crashing on the second pass of my floor routine. I listen to her and make the entire routine -- with energy left over.
-The energy kept me after practice to nearly 10:00, creating Beth's floor routine to wonderfully dramatic music (and holding her head still when she got a bit too rambunctious). "This is what happens when I start editing," I tell Emeline. "I can't stop."
-and by 12:45 a.m., I have a 32-page fiction portfolio (I'd thought I'd only be able to eke out three pages), a "personal statement," a "critical writing sample," and last but not least, the application payment form for Friday's deadline.
For once, I can say it sincerely: Good work, Gallagher!
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