My pen that I love so much, it writes so smoothly and dark, just ran out of ink! Now dont ask me what brand it is or anything because I am oblivious to that (although I suppose I could just look at the pen to find out) I just know that I got it in a two pack for 7 bucks at CVS pharmacy, and the other one in the pack was chewed to death by my darn dog. I finished my notes with a different pen but it felt so foreign and weird in my hand. I miss my pen.
Today I was asked a couple times what my book was about. A simple enough question, but I felt a frog in my throat as I began trying to explain my plot to these people. It was odd that I felt so self-consious when talking about my book. I felt like I was bearing my soul to strangers. This overwhelming forboding hit me. I would have much rather read my entire journal aloud to a stadium than answer these inocent questions. Why is that I wonder? It's a fiction book, with no basis on any of my reality, and no connecting plot lines or characters to me. I just felt as though my whole life, every thought I have ever thought and every feeling I have ever felt were being displayed right then and there. I wonder how people who have their books published feel. To have that feeling a million times over, with thousands of people. That is going to be a challenge I will have to face full on, it will be hard, but I know I can do it.
gee I know what you're feeling. I shared my book with someone recently and I felt so uncomfortable--- the vibes I got from them was horrible it was as though they didn't like it. I guess those are some feelings we have to face with sharing our written words. Afterwards I felt so exposed and vulnerable, maybe because my novel is apart of my personal story.
ReplyDeleteWishing you well--- I know you going to do well.
It is so unnerving to let someone read the deepest parts of your life. Even though my book is fiction, it still feels as though it's a part of me. Thank you so much for your support :)
ReplyDelete