At Blissdom. In Nashville.
All I can say is?
It's eleven kinds of awesome.
Part of me feels like I don't belong here
Amongst all these super smart people.
(This is not just the low-brow Chardonnay talking)
I have a lot of work to do
But I need your help.
That means honest input, critiques, and comments.
I cannot be objective about my own work. I can't step away.
I'm afraid. Afraid of my writing, afraid of myself.
Afraid that my life will be reduced to getting crunk at cronferences.
Just dreaming about the writer I could be.
Instead of taking chances---submitting posts for publication and not caring whether "they" accept something or not. Have to keep trying. Practicing.
I'm afraid of saying things. Things that will alienate you.
Things that might even scare me. I'm not sure what's underneath,
This dinosaur buried in the rubble. I'm chipping away slowly,
Because fear is a dirty fool.
But I am still here.
It's a first step.
I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
There are no real words.
I am grateful and scared and humbled here.
I will never be a "big blogger," but I don't wanna be.
I wanna be the girl next door. Who's a writer.
Who you love to stop by and read.
Because that is who I am.