Almost As Scary As A Spider

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. Ernest Hemingway

typewriter stormy night

No, I have not been blogging. Or Facebooking, or tweeting. [we will not even discuss the other “writing” gig I let myself get sucked into]. I have been writing, writing, writing on my WIP. Note the bar on the right bleeding words written: 12,311 to date.

I also did something I never thought I would do in a million years. At last year’s Love is Murder Mystery Writer’s conference, I took a Master Class with famous author Anne Perry. She has published about a billion books. Her cozy mysteries are sold internationally. As part of the class, she offered to review and comment on the first 30 pages of any work-in-progress.

It’s amazing to have someone so renowned in the genre to make such an offer. It is a very different matter to actually put one’s amateur-status project in the hands of such an expert. The fear of “what if it’s terrible” was paralyzing.

Case in point, and I am not making this up. At that same LIM conference, one session choice involved submitting three pages for an anonymous oral reading and comment by a panel of editors. I stood in the doorway for no less than 10 minutes, walked away, walked back, debating whether or not to participate. My inner writer, arguing against my outer protector, finally screamed, “for the love of god, it’s three freaking pages and it’s ANNONYMOUS.”

And so it was. I participated. I enjoyed it. I learned a lot.

So I finally polished up those 30 pages and sent them to Anne Perry. It was the most liberating “hit send” ever!

And now, I am celebrating with a wintertime Sauvignon Blanc.

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