The other day, I was waiting in line at the post office when a charming young woman started a conversation with me. She sounded erudite (well, she had an upper class British accent) and her voice had the pleasing quaver of one who was readily sharing vulnerability with a stranger.
As the line promised a long wait, (I was number 97 and “now serving” was number 58) we had a long talk.
Turned out my new conversationalist was a writer. She had just published with a small house a breezily amusing tongue-in-cheek guide to manners. To be precise, it fell squarely into a category called chick-lit. I can attest that the author was tailor-made to promote this book and the book had received-- get this-- an endorsement printed on the back cover of a female Supreme Court Justice.
“Wow,” I said. “So how is it going?”
“Nowhere. Promoting this book has been like talking and no one answers,” she said. “It’s like waking through cement.”
Sometimes life is like that. You do all the right things. Your offerings are good. You get help from the right places, and then...
Walking though cement. A powerful if painful image.