So here's the story.
I rolled out of bed around nine yesterday and walked the three feet over to my computer where I was going to check the weather, as I do every morning. Then I asked myself, "Nom de Plume, when was the last time you checked your hotmail account?" Not recently was the answer, and I have a few friends who correspond with me that way, so I decided to check it.
In the inbox was an e-mail from someone with a very funny last name. It's a shame I can't reprint it here. Suffice it to say that it was like "Snodgrass."
Ms. Snodgrass (hereafter to be referred to as Director Snodgrass) was wondering if I had any information about rights/royalties due to me should someone decide to stage my play. She went on to say that she was a student at Knox and had been pointed in the direction of my play by a friend who had been in the Nebraska staged reading. I remembered him (he had been the really sweet boy playing my least favorite character--not the most odious, or even the second most odious, just one I didn't care for--and when the week was over he asked me to e-mail a copy that "I haven't written all over.").
So I e-mailed the people at the magazine who published it (because, remember, I have this royalties question to clear up) and they gave me quite a nice crash course (I love them) in a system of notes that is sent between a writer and a director. This system, I should mention, culminates in a check, and the potential to fly me out to watch the play. (!)
So. We'll see how that goes. But even to have the idea in my head is excitement enough.
I jumped around a lot, which alarmed my roommates until I told them what happened.
YAY!
Oh, and the flu shot went well. And watching House (good episode!). And those other things I had to do, all of which were somewhat eclipsed.
And I have 10,037 words of NaNoWriMo done.
Indeed.