It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the air smelled of salt and sunscreen—the kind of day we locals call “almost too hot for flip-flops.” I was flipping through my paper planner (yes, a real one, because I’m either delightfully retro or tragically behind the times) when my phone buzzed on the café counter. Not so unusual in a place where half your life sounds like a conch shell ringtone. But this call was different. This was the call. And it changed everything.
The Ring That Rippled Through My Life
At first, I thought it was spam—another “free cruise” that wasn’t free. Or worse, the kind of car warranty call that rivals the persistence of an ex who swears they’ve “changed.”
I almost didn’t answer it. I was elbows-deep in a freelance draft, the beach crowds outside were poised for an ice cream riot, and honestly, I didn’t feel like chatting with strangers. But something told me to pick up. My instincts—a mix of gut feeling plus a decade of being schooled by Southern politeness—said, “Do it.”
On the other end of the line was a woman from a publishing house in New York City. THE publishing house that had ghosted my novel submission three months ago. That novel was my baby, my heart spilled into 300 pages of beachfront nostalgia and quarter-life confusion.
And now, this impossibly cool, city-accented voice was telling me, “We loved your manuscript. Let’s talk next steps.”
Cue the kind of stunned silence that might get you mistaken for a telemarketer hang-up.
When Life Hands You Plot Twists
Her words swirled in my head like palm fronds in a hurricane. Next steps? What even were those? I wanted to scream, cry, and throw on a celebratory sundress all at once. Instead, I played it cool. (Or at least I thought I did—later she told me I sounded like I’d accidentally swallowed a kazoo.)
Truth is, I hadn’t expected to hear back from them at all. If you've ever poured your soul into something only to send it off into the void of potential rejection, you know exactly what I mean. Submittable was my dating app, and each unanswered query letter felt like receiving another “It’s not you, it’s us” text.
But suddenly, it wasn’t about rejection anymore. It was about possibility.
The call didn’t last long—just enough time for her to lay out next steps and for me to nod furiously into thin air, forgetting she couldn’t see me. When it ended, I stood in the middle of the café kitchen, staring at my reflection in the coffee pot. Did that just happen? Was this real life?
Narrator voice: It was.
The Things That Happen When You Answer
I spent the next few weeks in a whirling mix of excitement and chaos, a lot like running barefoot across hot sand—you’re thrilled to be moving forward, but also half-certain you’re going to wipe out spectacularly.
The “next steps” involved edits, contracts, and sending off more acknowledgments than a “Best Actress” speech. And let me tell you: living in Myrtle Beach while working with a Manhattan publisher is the kind of cultural collision they’d name a cocktail after. (Hint: it’d be equal parts rum and Red Bull.)
At first, I wanted to clean up my story. Make it polished. Make it perfect. Maybe leave out the sass and the boardwalk stories in favor of something… sophisticated. Something New York-y. But then, during a long beach walk one evening, I had a thought: Why did they call me?
They didn’t want a polished, out-of-character version of me. They wanted my scraps, my sandy metaphors, my wild, heartfelt mess. If this wasn’t a sign to own my voice and my quirks, I didn’t know what was.
Life Lessons I Didn’t Realize I Was Learning
Here’s what I learned from that unforgettable call and the ride that followed—lessons that have carried me through life, love, and late-night existential crises:
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Trust your instincts.
Whether it’s answering an unexpected phone call or deciding to stay true to your weird, delightful self, that little inner nudge knows more than you think. Trust it. -
Show up, even when it’s scary.
Sending off that manuscript felt like flinging my diary into the ocean. It was terrifying, but if I hadn’t done it, that call would’ve never come. The same goes for showing up in relationships—vulnerability is scary, but it’s also the good stuff. -
Find joy in the uncertainty.
Much like that “Are they into me, or not?” stage of dating, life rarely gives you clear answers when you want them. Lean into the unknown. It keeps us alive. -
Stay grounded in your roots.
Trying to “fix” myself into something I wasn’t felt like wearing a scratchy sweater in August—all it did was make me uncomfortable. Whoever you are, own it. Someone out there wants exactly what you’ve got. -
Pick up the call.
Whether it’s a literal phone call (potential spam risks and all) or just an opportunity presenting itself in an unexpected way, pick it up. You never know where it might lead.
From Flirt to Familiar: A Full-Circle Moment
Here’s the truth I always come back to: life and relationships aren’t so different. Both are part grand adventure, part chaotic guessing game, and entirely worth the effort. The call that changed my career? It taught me to embrace the messy, unpredictable middle. The part where you’re unsure but still full of hope.
It’s like flirting—it’s rarely perfect, often a little awkward, and half the charm lies in just going for it. And isn’t that true about all the big moments? Whether it’s confessing your feelings to someone or answering a phone call that feels too good to be true, it all starts with saying yes to possibility.
So here’s my advice (learned from countless salty sunsets and more mistakes than I care to admit): when the call comes, pick it up. It might just be the start of something extraordinary.
