Hope does not spring eternal; it leaks out of a small spring in your unconscious, most of the time a mere trickle. The nicest thing about putting off a letter, that is, a pitch, is that as long as it remains a hopeful idea in your mind, your heart and hope leap up and you think of all the splendid possibilities if your letter is welcomed. But then , when you finally stop putting it off any longer, you write the letter/pitch/presentation/application, whatever....then, oh, then...hope dries up, it dies, and you are left hope-less.
Today I have spent the better part of the day writing pitches. Actually, I have spent the better part of three days writing pitches. My friend and mentor insisted on vetting my letters, copy-editing and improving them. He used to be an editor for a publishing house himself so he knows what he likes to see.
Now we wait. And now hope stops leaking; it starts dying.
If anything comes of all this, I won't have to write a blog. You'll hear the shouts and huzzahs without electronic magnification. I'm pretty sure you'll hear silence. As long as I didn't write the letters I had high hopes; now that they are out there, hopes dwindle, shrink, and fade, die, fall into the sere and yellow leaf...you get the picture. I don't want to think about it any more.