I'm leaving in seven minutes to go meet with my editor. God, that sounds sexy. And it would be a lot sexier if I didn't have so much baggage with this editor. The kind of baggage where she canceled my column a year and a half ago without telling me.
Which isn't so much baggage-y as it is awkward.
It's the writer version of getting dumped and then your ex asking you for coffee a year and a half later. Should we talk about it? Or just pretend it never happened? Should I pitch her another story idea – a.k.a. ask her out again – or is that too desperate?
Also, I've now been in Hermit Writer Sweatpant Mode for so long, I am nervous about this meeting. I forget how to do meetings. And even dress for them. The shirt I'm wearing? Attractive and stylish, yet professional? Smells like dust. Which is how long it's been since I had a meeting.
Maybe I should have more meetings. I forget who buys the coffee. I hope it's her.
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