It’s October and time for all the little ghouls and ghosts to come out from their hiding places. Me? I’m scared all the time, but not by the paranormal.
It’s this whole writing gig.
I mean, not only do I need to worry about talking to people about my writing–which happened recently, I’ll get to that later–but sending my words to agents and editors is beyond scary. Waiting for that email from one special someone who gets me is more than frightening. And not everyone gets me.
As a matter of fact, I was asked recently what I was working on while sitting at baseball. This is kinda how the conversation went (keep in mind this was a 75 year-old great grandmother).
Her- Are you grading papers?
Me- Not today. I’m actually working on some revisions of a story.
Her- Oh. You write?
Me- Yeah, I’m an author (at this point I thought, holy shit did I just say that out loud?).
Her- What do you write? Can I pick up some of your books at the store?
Me- I’m not yet published, but I write horror (she interrupts me and figured I’d keep it simple and not add the YA/NA and contemporary thing).
Her- I should write a book, but with my fucking mouth I might shock some people.
Then she changed the subject and continued to bend my ear for 20 minutes about a multitude of subjects. All I wanted was to get back to work, but alas she wasn’t having it. Inside I was freaking out about admitting to a stranger that I am a writer. Some of the other baseball moms know I write and have actually read some of my stuff, but never has it left our tight circle.
Maybe I’m getting more comfortable with talking about it or something. Still…writing a story and sharing it is still the scariest thing of all.