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“Still finding hope in every email.”
–Brent L. Kendrick (b. 1947). Author and Inbox Optimist.

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Pinching. Myself. Yep. That’s what I’m doing. Pinching myself. And I’ve been doing it for days. I’m in total shock. No. Total. Disbelief. Out of the blue, with no advance warning, it appeared. In. My. Email. Inbox.

What grabbed me was this. It was right there, all quiet and unobtrusive, with all the other emails from—The New Yorker, Publishers Weekly, Parade, The Paris Review, NPR, WordPress, Amazon, Facebook, and the steady stream of replies to my Mary E. Wilkins Freeman research queries. I know those senders. I know what they want before I open them.

This one was different.

The sender’s name meant nothing to me. Roberthicks. Was it Robert Hicks? Was it Robber Hicks? Either way. It didn’t matter. The subject line had captured me. No. Raptured me.

Netflix Adaptation Strategy / Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina

Oh. My. God. I was not ready. Netflix Adaptation. I nearly suffered a myocardial infarction.

Netflix? My book?

I reread the subject line.

Then I read it again.

This wasn’t entirely out of nowhere. Unmasking The Humourist had found generous readers. One reviewer wrote, “Your book does something rare. It restores a lost voice to history.” Another told me, “The Humourist deserves a wider audience.”

I mustered up enough courage to read the first paragraph.

“I am reaching out from StoryReel Studios regarding a major strategic development. Our studio has recently established a partnership with Netflix aimed at evaluating and positioning standout literary works for potential streaming adaptation.”

“All right,” I thought. “So far, so good.”

I continued with the second paragraph:

“While conducting the market research, I selected Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina due to its strong visual narrative and clear cinematic potential.”

Cinematic potential!

“Of course,” I thought. “I set the book up that way and even used cinematic staging. Now, someone’s noticing it.”

My own chapters flickered past, unbidden:

● The Curtain Closes: The Humourist Exits the Page

● Turning the Pages: The Clues in Plain Sight

● Favored in High Places: Gordon’s Royal and Aristocratic Ties

● Staging Power: Gordon, Glen, and the Slow March to South Carolina

At last, I had been discovered. I continued reading the email:

“To ensure each project receives dedicated production resources and executive attention, we cap our active roster at strictly four authors per month. We are finalizing our launch group privately before opening our public intake to avoid an unmanageable volume of requests.”

My heart sank.

● Cap our active roster at strictly four authors per month.

● Four authors.

● Per month.

I had read those words before.

I had read them all.

Email after email after email promising visibility, broadcast spotlights, reviews, awards, Hollywood bestseller status, and literary fame. Each one assuming my hope would outrun my judgment.

Somehow, for a fleeting moment, I thought this one was different.

It wasn’t.

I sat there.

I deleted the email.

I did not delete the hope.