In our family, if a vibrant male cardinal crosses our path, we take it as a sign that something great will happen that day. When it comes to my writing, I am hyper attuned to signs I believe mean that my work in progress will be THE ONE, the manuscript that's finally traditionally published. Oh, the signs I've received in the ten months I've labored over this book. But I'll include only a trio: a framed print of Jazzman Miles Davis, for whom I named a beloved young character, hung in my room at The Library Hotel in NYC; a front garden of brilliant sunflowers surrounding a bronze statue (both figure prominently in the story)captured my eye right across the street from the river rafting outfitters in Scottsville, VA, where my family waited for kayaks; and most extraordinarily, the tiny note clipped to the rim of a cocktail a D.C. bartender placed in front of me revealed a poem written by an author I cite in the manuscript. 

Is this THE ONE?

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime,  

Send me a sign.

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