It’s IWSG time again. Thanks to Alex J. Cavanaugh and co-hosts
for putting this on. When it comes to insecurity, I have a big one: Marketing.
There’s not much more in the world that makes my stomach
churn than marketing. I hate it. I know hate’s a strong word, but it’s true. I
HATE marketing. I long for the days when writers lived in shacks and slipped their
manuscripts into random mailboxes. It’s not that I’m shy. I’m not. I’m actually
very social. It’s that I hate talking up my work. I think it should speak for
itself. I know I’m a good writer—but that doesn’t mean I need to or should have
to tell people that. It wasn’t until recently that I attempted to market at
all. Those of you who follow this blog can attest to that—my posts are random
at best. But I’ve finally decided I have to, no matter how much I hate it.
Decided isn’t actually the right word. I’m being pushed into it. God has had
just about enough of my waffling and has drawn a line in the sand. I am to obey
or else (I really don’t want to know
what the or else is). He’s led me this far, I guess it’s time to dive in. Pray
Welcome. It's the first Wednesday of the month, making it IWSG time. Thanks to Alex J. Cavanaugh and co-hosts for putting this thing on. When I was thinking about what to post, a conversation came to mind that I had with one of my illustrators. I asked the question. THE QUESTION. Are you willing to speak before a group? She very nicely, but firmly said, "No". I thought I understood. Who likes to speak in front of other people? But it turns out I was wrong, she didn't mean that, at least not ONLY that. She followed her no with a very insightful thought--isn't it better this way? I considered it, and I must say, I have to agree. Isn't it better that we as artists maintain some sense of mystery? Would we be so looked-up-to if the general public knew that we're not only like everyone else, in some ways we're a little worse? Not worst in a bad way, but in a socially-awkward kind of way. Would that young eight-year-old look bright-eyed up at you when your skirt was tucked in your underpants? Probably not. Would that teenager care about a word you wrote if they knew exactly how much of a dork you were? Again, no. Today I'm going to do a reading in my son's classroom. And he's howling the whole way to school. He knows how much of a dork I am. He knows I'll (probably) embarrass him. I told him not to worry. I've checked my skirt. It's officially panty-free.
Welcome. It’s the first Wednesday of the month,
making it IWSG time. Thanks to Alex J. Cavanaugh and co-hosts for putting this
on. For those of you who don’t know, IWSG stands for Insecure Writer’s Support
Group—a monthly online gathering for posting about this crazy thing called
writing. Please join us.
For me it’s a weird time of year—just coming off the
hectic schedule of NaNo, where for the first time ever I failed to meet the
50,000 word count—turns out it’s not a good idea to go away for a week when you’re
supposed to be pushing out almost 2,000 words per day. Now it’s December, where
I’m crazy busy for a whole different reason. Christmas is coming and I’m hosting
this year and my husband and I thought now would be a good time to gut out our
whole kitchen. Maybe a part of me really does like the time crunch. Hopefully
this turns out better than NaNo. I’ve got seventeen people expecting a meal
from that kitchen in a less than a month. Right now there’s no working faucet
and just drywall on the walls. Pray for me. Seriously. Right now.
For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been a
psychiatric nurse for years and one of the groups I lead over and over is on
relaxation—closing your eyes and deep breathing, counting to ten, that sort of
stuff. It’s funny how you forget to apply what you teach to yourself, at least
I do. So this month I’m going to deep breath. I’m going to count to ten. I’m
going to finish the book I started for NaNo, even if it takes me three months
to do it instead of one. I’m going to enjoy my Christmas gathering, which will
probably end with all of us washing the dishes in the bathroom sink.