Dearest Willy Shookaspear! So good to hear from you, guy!
Upon my word (and sentences) I was surprised - pleasantly so - to receive your most welcome letter! Yes, dear, dear, literary friend of mine: I'm still sending-and-waiting but not necessarily in that order. On occasion I wait and then send. Either way the result is the same.
Please forgive me for noting that you too are experiencing a similar problem as me. One cannot help but ponder those words, 'cannot sendeth it, fatal error, address not known.' Doth thou think there's a conspiracy afoot (or arm)? It is even more surprising given your reputation and establishment within literary community!
Perhaps - just perhaps - the delay in response might be as a result of sending my plays through the snail-mail method. Actually and until you brought the subject up, it hadn't occurred to me that my plays, although sent some years back, may never have reached their destination. Perhaps - just perhaps - they are still in transit! Or - horrors-of-horrors and I hate to think about this prospect - they may somehow have ended up in France where snail-mail takes on a whole new meaning! Don't know if you're aware of it but snail-mail-snails are selected specifically for their large-ish size and muscular makeup plus their ability to trek accross country but as you and I know, snails are known for their bad sense of direction. Hence, the distinct possibility that they might have asked for directions and were sent to a café in Normandy where their journey ended in a pool of oil and garlic. Oh the guilt and prospect of being a snail murderer is too much to bear!
I shall now take to bed with a jug of Grandmother Moliz Elder/Youngerberry Wine for comfort and reflect upon my erroneous-but-innocent action.Here's mud in your eye... Cheers... L'chaim...and all that.
Your friend (and snail you-know-what),