Exposed (or Yes, that IS a trench coat and, Yes, I am dressed underneath)

I'm waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

I'm learning to be okay with my fears in regard to letting people other than people I know read my work.
The thought of that feels like standing naked in a spotlight, at night, in a cold, wet drizzle, with a slight breeze, in front of an old brown brick wall (No, I don't know why a brown brick wall, I'm just going with what my brain is projecting)... and it's muddy. Not standing-in-puddles muddy, but that kind of muddy where you think to yourself, "Hey, that look like the consistency of face-mask mud." Instead of rifles just out of line of sight, there are people (with my face, I'm sure of it) waiting to jeer in all the colorful ways people jeer when they read bad fiction.

Defensive humor, don't fail me now.

It feels like I'm running from a saber-tooth tiger.
When I read the critiques from my writing group I was grateful for the points they made, but it felt like a rabid woolly mammoth, foaming at the mouth, joined the chase (I like to be chronologically correct when I'm half-wake and over exaggerating.)

Most of my waking life I've been an editor, so I'm usually at the receiving end (how appropriate) of manuscripts that (hopefully) have been through all of this; The plot holes mostly filled, grammar and punctuation have been sorted out, adverbs and passive voice have been kept to a minimum, consistencies are consistent, etc. But there is something to be said when you've been immersed so much in your own story, that even though you're grateful for another set or 3 of eyes pointing out the obvious abysses in your story, there is an irrational bit of your brain that thinks, "I really wish humans were more in tune with this whole mind-meld thing. It'd make my life easier." But that's lazy and not really a lot of fun.

So as the coffee begins to take effect and my humorous nature throws a house coat in my general muddy direction, I will pull up my big-girl panties (comfy working undies), turn on some writing music, and get to work.

Avalanche

I'm going to publish my first manuscript early next year. So you're maybe thinking to yourself, "So. Yeah. That's great." For me and many other 1^st-time publishing writers, that's a really big deal.

I remember transcribing for a project and the interviewee talked about how after he wrote and published his first book, the other dozen books just flew out of his head (Okay, he may have said half a dozen books and he may have also said something a little less poetic than "flew out of his head.").

If I was taking the coward's way out, I'd have quite a list of reasons not to write at all (especially with everything going on this year), much less actually have the gall to think I'm going to publish anything. But to be perfectly honest, I'm done being a coward, or more specifically, I'm done creating and living off excuse after excuse as to why I can't do or be or have ____________. I have all around me personal, professional, and spiritual examples of pressing on in the face of less-than-ideal circumstances and not only did they survive and thrive, but their contributions are an avalanche of inspiration for so many.

I've had a lot of fun sharing my stories with the writing group helping me polish my works. I appreciate their input and I am glad when I recognize my ego being an Ego. I'm grateful for the surge of energy that comes from feeling unstuck after I get back a critique.

So my Avalanche of Appreciation is to all who are not perfect and know they are not perfect, and embrace their imperfections. We still trudge on anyway.