the jerk

A little while ago, walking back from the café where I had eaten the most superb apple walnut bread of my life, my roommate told me about this YA novel contest being judged by editors from four or five major publishing houses. She was telling me with no small amount of enthusiasm because I think she's been working on a YA novel & I'm sure she saw this as an opportunity. And the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "Well, it's probably a ploy to get you under contract without an agent."

And as soon as it came out of my mouth I felt like the biggest asshole, like one of those people who hates Christmas & calls Valentine's Day a holiday invented by Hallmark, which it is NOT. Well, maybe a little, but it is also a perfectly lovely excuse to tell those you love that you love them, & to receive mail, which is one of my all-time favorite things.

Anyway, my roommate agreed wholeheartedly & even thanked me for pointing that out, which somehow made me feel like even more of a raincloud.

Is this what growing up is like? Do you become cynical about anything you devote too much time & thought to?

I still really love the holidays, & snow, & sending mail even though the price of stamps jumps every six months. I still use the library & sometimes daydream about reading before a packed room in a cute bookstore even though I have a hard time just speaking in class. I still submit to writing contests, but usually it's just a cash prize. I'm pretty sure I hugged every single grad school application before I dropped it in the mailbox.

I'd like to think there's still some optimism left in my half-full glass. I'm too young to be a Scrooge.