Three dead moths take up residence in my mailbox as the clock ticks ...

Over the next few months, everyday when I came home from work I would hope that maybe today there would be something in my mailbox, a request for a partial or a full manuscript, a letter of acceptance, anything but my self addressed stamped envelopes with a rejection letter. But everyday it was the same; I would lift the ill-fitting mailbox lid (thank you handyman!) and find the same thing … three dead moths in my mailbox. 

That summer I took time off work to write. I focused on my middle-grade novel based on the life of my grandmother when she came from Russia in the early part of the 1900s. I started sending queries out to agents, seeking representation for Dead Frog on the Porch. I figured that at some point I would run out of Canadian publishers and would need to access the American market. 

So the clock ticked on early registration for the SiWC conference and I flip flopped. My writer friend implored me to go, especially since I had a manuscript finished and I could meet with editors and agents. When the early registration was extended to October 5^th, I took it as a sign from the publishing gods and signed up. I scrambled to find a flight and a hotel. Then things started happening.