Since the beginning of this year, I have been working on my query letter to be sent to literary agents, hoping that one of them would be interested in considering the full manuscript and get it published.
Since the beginning of this year, work has been full-on that only now, I have been able to draw full breaths again and revisit said letter.
So, today... I've finally finished and can honestly say I'm quite happy with what I've written. And with the touch of a button, that letter is sitting in an agent's inbox.
I don't have any high expectations, this being my first attempt and all. Or rather, I do, but I am also being realistic about the fact that only a handful of people get overnight success and my track record so far indicates I'm not one of them. Not that I mind...
So with that, the only thing I can say is... 'Wish Me Luck!'
Monday, March 29, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Returning to Some Semblance of Normalcy...
I liked this quote one of my Area Supervisors have written in light of our Director's recent, unexpected passing:
Life is forever changed, but we are moving on, one day at a time.
It is so eloquent, and I can't put it any better than that. It's like carrying a wound that had scraped your skin, the sting of it gradually becoming less and less, but the new, recovered tissue is still rough and tender; not yet fully healed.
I also wrote to another Principal that life is slowly (and I say this with emphasis) getting back on track, though I think it will be a little while to fully let the realisation sink in and not keep expecting the Director to walk around the office, not to hear his voice; for me not to personally seek him out each time I walk in.
But things are returning to some semblance of normalcy, believing that a) life, as demonstrated by his sudden passing, is too short to stay stagnant and for anyone to dwell in the negatives, b) he himself wouldn't want any of us to stay grieving for all eternity, and c) that one day, we will see him again.
With that, I've revived certain forgotten, momentarily-pushed-aside passions in my life. I've gone back onto the healthy diet wagon, finding myself trawling through websites for new recipes. I've started waking up at the same time again (or even earlier), finding solace in doing mundane things such as emptying the dishwasher before I have to go to work. I've put down my pen for a while, finding that there is excitement to be had simply by ironing your clothes and watching TV. And today, that the sun is finally shining, I might just go on that bike ride after work...
Life is forever changed, but we are moving on, one day at a time.
It is so eloquent, and I can't put it any better than that. It's like carrying a wound that had scraped your skin, the sting of it gradually becoming less and less, but the new, recovered tissue is still rough and tender; not yet fully healed.
I also wrote to another Principal that life is slowly (and I say this with emphasis) getting back on track, though I think it will be a little while to fully let the realisation sink in and not keep expecting the Director to walk around the office, not to hear his voice; for me not to personally seek him out each time I walk in.
But things are returning to some semblance of normalcy, believing that a) life, as demonstrated by his sudden passing, is too short to stay stagnant and for anyone to dwell in the negatives, b) he himself wouldn't want any of us to stay grieving for all eternity, and c) that one day, we will see him again.
With that, I've revived certain forgotten, momentarily-pushed-aside passions in my life. I've gone back onto the healthy diet wagon, finding myself trawling through websites for new recipes. I've started waking up at the same time again (or even earlier), finding solace in doing mundane things such as emptying the dishwasher before I have to go to work. I've put down my pen for a while, finding that there is excitement to be had simply by ironing your clothes and watching TV. And today, that the sun is finally shining, I might just go on that bike ride after work...
Monday, March 1, 2010
There Is A Numbness In My Heart...
And a gaping hole ever since I learnt of your sudden, unexpected passing.
I feel a bit foolish crying over the loss of you, a Director. But when it comes right down to it, you are everything, and anything but. Perhaps it was the fact that I've worked with you for the past 2.5 years before you were appointed as a Director. Perhaps it was the fact that in all that time, you have never once treated me, or other Secretaries, as a small, insignificant person you'd give only the mediocre, menial tasks to complete. Perhaps, having gone to several team dinners, able to get to know not only you outside work capacity, but also your lovely wife, and subsequently heard about your family, I've come to see you more of as a colleague and a friend.
I can't wrap my head around the fact that you were 'gone'. I kept driving to work, thinking that I'd see your car already parked there. I kept walking around the office, half-hoping I'd bump into you, or that you'd turn around the corner and said 'Hi' on your way to talk to the other Area Supervisors. I kept wishing that you'd crack a joke at me, call me 'Queen of' something rather, the way you always did. But all I saw around me was shrines - photos of you smiling, flower arrangements people have sent in to the office as a token of their condolences, Powerpoint presentations looping on and on, displaying the prayers we've cited for your 'Memorial Service'.
You will live on in my heart - you're far too significant not to. And it will take me a while to get used to the idea that you aren't going to be around, greeting each and every one of us in the morning, saying goodbye in the evening before you go home, telling us to do the same. You remained to me a wonderful, inspiring individual, and I will miss you oh so dearly.
I feel a bit foolish crying over the loss of you, a Director. But when it comes right down to it, you are everything, and anything but. Perhaps it was the fact that I've worked with you for the past 2.5 years before you were appointed as a Director. Perhaps it was the fact that in all that time, you have never once treated me, or other Secretaries, as a small, insignificant person you'd give only the mediocre, menial tasks to complete. Perhaps, having gone to several team dinners, able to get to know not only you outside work capacity, but also your lovely wife, and subsequently heard about your family, I've come to see you more of as a colleague and a friend.
I can't wrap my head around the fact that you were 'gone'. I kept driving to work, thinking that I'd see your car already parked there. I kept walking around the office, half-hoping I'd bump into you, or that you'd turn around the corner and said 'Hi' on your way to talk to the other Area Supervisors. I kept wishing that you'd crack a joke at me, call me 'Queen of' something rather, the way you always did. But all I saw around me was shrines - photos of you smiling, flower arrangements people have sent in to the office as a token of their condolences, Powerpoint presentations looping on and on, displaying the prayers we've cited for your 'Memorial Service'.
You will live on in my heart - you're far too significant not to. And it will take me a while to get used to the idea that you aren't going to be around, greeting each and every one of us in the morning, saying goodbye in the evening before you go home, telling us to do the same. You remained to me a wonderful, inspiring individual, and I will miss you oh so dearly.
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