
Leaving the dug-out, I walked to the home plate. Life was pitching me the opportunity to write a book. I warmed my arms up and I swung a few times. The catcher behind me was nothing more than a word processing program waiting for me to strike or hit a home run. It was time. The pitcher pulled into the wind-up, I worked feverishly on my non-fiction proposal, and then I swung at the ball. I sent my non-fiction proposal out to agents.
After sending my proposal out, I felt like it was opening day at the ballpark. As I new player to the game, I measure time differently then some of the old timers. I can't help but wonder where my non-fiction proposal is actually going to land. I hope on the desk of the New York agents that I choose.

Now I wait.
I kind of felt empty at first sending my work out. I understand that I've only scratched at the surface and the game hasn't even started...It was one pitch and one swing in the midst of the beautiful stadium know as circumstance. I only hope that my timing is right and I hit a long and lean home run. The kind that slam out of the stadium. Dreams mean the world to me but I'm not expecting too much.