by Andy Greene

It was Friday, the day of the writers retreat. Part of me wants to add an exclamation point to that sentence, but that’s not how I felt that morning.

Everything had been packed. I had done my preparations. I had justified my lack of preparations. It was too late to do anything else. I was never one for cramming before a test. I preferred to stew . . . 

The weekend was a big opportunity—I would get to meet picture book agents and editors in person, face-to-face! They would read my work. (Gulp, they would read my work?!)