The year is 2000. Y2K didn’t happen, in terms of chaos and widespread looting and mayhem. What did happen is that we picked up and moved from East Texas to Dallas so my husband could start seminary.
We looked for a church home. On one such jaunt, we opted for a church very near our home. That Sunday, they happened to be having a barbecue. They invited us to join them, which we did because we like free food. I sat next to a lovely lady with blonde hair. We got to chatting. She asked me, “And what do you do?”
I blurted out, “I want to be a writer.”
“It just so happens that one of my passions is to mentor new writers.” I later found out Sandra Glahn had written several medical thrillers and beaucoup de nonfiction books about infertility. She also edited Dallas Seminary’s Kindred Spirit. She also taught writing at the seminary. To my delight, she told me she’d be happy to look at what I’ve written.
With fear, I sent my babies (short stories and articles) via campus mail to Sandra’s box. And then I waited. And waited.
I knew she was busy. I knew enough not to bug her. So I waited.