Digging through my files for driving directions to our campsite in Pennsylvania (give me a break, we only do this once a year, okay?), I found two things that made me smile.
The first:
Scribbled on the manila envelope where I put last year’s info (complete with all the exits leading to Friendly’s restaurants) I found my Highway Haiku:
Ontario First
New York: Three Giant Ravens
Pennsylvania Ho
Bridge May Be Icy
Buckle Up For Safety Please
Right Lane Closed Ahead
(Yeah, that last one is composed entirely of road signs. And I’d completely forgotten about the three humungous raven statues in the field just over the border, on the west side of I-81.)
The second:
A white envelope that only had my name on it. I opened it and pulled out three print-outs of submission requirements to three major publishers. On top was a sheet of paper with huge letters on it:
A,
If you
make it,
they will
come.
The sign was a colleague’s gag at work a couple of years ago, when we were joking about possessed hardware after our network was set up and from the back office he could fool around with printer that sat next to my work station. But it made me smile, because I found it in with those manuscript submission guidelines.
If I make it, they will come, indeed.