"A Problem Page For All!"

Sweetheart, bestest friend of mine, I want to make it all better. I want to send you copies of rejection letters I've received (let's see...there was Snow White, and The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, and The Best Christmas Pageant Ever again, and All the World's a Stage, and...yeah). I want to hold you in a warm hug and feel the energy flowing between us and feed you good energy. (We talk a lot about energy in our house these days -- are any of you into that?) I want to bake you oat bars or gingerbread and eat cross-legged on the wooden floor of the office (it used to be my bedroom, still has most of my crap in it, but we also moved Stevie's desk in here) under the warm 60-watt glow of my desk lamp. I want to walk along the ocean shore with you, singing off-key while you shriek and cover your ears because you sing so much better. I want to drive for miles and miles in the middle of no where, or perhaps along the twisty mountain roads, with you, windows rolled down and something loud playing on the radio.

I want to be there for you when you're feeling down. I cannot. I can offer myself, my time, my energy, my love, though. Call me, e-mail me, IM me, or just send out emotional feelers over to Indiana. I love you, sweetie. One play isn't the end of it all. Life works out in the end. And always: you have absolutely no need to feel ashamed to tell us anything. Anything at all! We love you, munchkin. There's no shame in not getting into one play. (Says the chick who won't submit her stories to publishers because she fears rejection like nobody's business...but, ahem, maybe we won't mention that just now.)

Hugs, sweetie.

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