When I was 3 or 4 years old, with all the boldness that the innocent possess, I dashed into my closet, donned my Superman outfit, and jumped out of my bedroom window.
I don't remember now, 40-some years later, how I dealt with the disappointment I must have felt along with the bruises.
This morning I sent to HarperCollins some sketches and a layout for a prospective book. I don't think there's a whit of difference in how I felt sending off that email than the trepidation, elation and confidence I had leaping out the window.
(That my email makes the same noise when sending that Superman made while flying was not lost on me either.)
I like my rather bold and daring efforts for this book, and would absolutely love to get the project, but until I hear back from the art director and editor, I don't know whether I'm really flying or not.
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