This is the nonfiction story of one man's quest to publish a fiction novel:

I'm a pessimistic person by nature.  I always assume the Eagles (my hometown football team) are going to lose, and that way, I never get my hopes up, and subsequently never get my hopes dashed.

And unfortunately, the Eagles pretty much always lose.

And I knew, I just knew that someone was getting an offer on the house in before us.  The realtor waited so long, and the price was so good.

But the house had been on the market for 52 days. What were the odds that someone would put in a bid the exact same day as us?

Pretty good, apparently.  Just like I always expect the Eagles to lose, and they always prove me right, I expected to not get this house, and unfortunately, I was right.

During all that chaos -- the multiple attempts to fax, the multiple attempts to e-mail, the meetings, the redos, the everything -- someone else put in an offer on the house, and that offer was accepted.

Oh sweet rejection.  It hurts when it's a book you're trying to publish, and it hurts when it's a house you're trying to buy.  And it doesn't hurt any less when you expect the negative thing to occur.

But not all hope is lost.  I've still got that article floating out there.  Will it be written, will it be published?

Who knows?  The wait continues…