On

Every year, my church holds this pie sale. We go in for a night or two, peel hundreds of apples, make pounds and pounds of crumble topping, and throw food at each other. It would be fun, except we’re not allowed to eat anything—all those pies, DO NOT TOUCH.
Last year, on Annual Pie-Making Day, my novel was rejected at acquisitions. I was crushed. I cried in the car.
This year, I couldn’t stop smiling because my editor had just emailed me, saying that she had read my revision and cried again.
(I like making people cry.)
It’s funny—so much has changed. So much hasn’t. Robert Frost said it best, I think: “In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”
I touched one of the pies tonight. I ate some crumble topping, and it was fantastic.