August 12, Monday

HI, brUCE. Here are the first three chapters, hope you enjoy.

I attached photos of the notebook pages I'd written, forty-two in all, which took a while to send with my spotty service.

A few minutes later, he responded.

Hand-written? This is old school. But okay, I can work with this. More soon.

I stowed my phone, feeling better than I'd felt in… years? Something about the process of writing long-hand—the tediousness, the frustration—had energized me. Every word had seemed important. And it was inspirational to see the pages adding up. It wasn't the same seeing digital pages accumulate in a file. I hadn't printed out a manuscript in years, but I was tempted to start up the practice again.

One of my favorite photos of my mother was her at her desk surrounded by stacks of manuscripts, all different versions of her books.

I only wished someday she'd be as proud of me as I was of her. It was a longshot, but a girl could hope.

I stood up to stretch, then heard the muffled noise of an engine coming from the road. I went to the window and smiled to see a FedEx truck lurching over the uneven pavement.

My new laptop had finally arrived!

I jogged downstairs and met the driver when he alighted, signed for the box and carried it back inside.

When I set the box on my desk, I hesitated and glanced over at my rumpled notebook.

Then I slid the box containing my new computer under the bed.