It was because I had the most realistic dream– my novel sold. And after the joy and screams and celebrations of a publishing contract caused me to wake up, once I was awake, I was so disappointed it was only a dream I couldn’t fall back to sleep.
Secrets of the Sari Chest isn’t even on submission yet, and already my mind is running wild with delusions and fantasies. I wish I could reign them in or temper them somehow. Particularly, since I know better. A few years ago, when my last book went on submission, I was full of such hope. I was certain it would sell. And then two years of submission came and went, and several dozen emails from editors (forwarded by my agent) turning it down.
Submission the first time around was brutal. My subconscious seems to have forgotten this. If I could build a bridge the gap between my daytime pessimism and my night-time optimism, so that I could be at a place of hopeful realism, well, that would be something.