They popped my cherry and despite what you may think, it wasn’t painful. A few weeks ago I produced, though several hours of mental sweat, my very first submission for my fiction workshop class. I handed out fourteen copies, smiled ever so politely and waited with baited breath for their response the following week.
I have no narcissistic delusions of grandeur about what I wrote. It is, given the time and the ever-growing stack of essays I have to read, the very best I could do. Despite it all, I must say, I am damn proud of it.
It’s no easy thing being a writer or wanting to be a writer and all that jazz. I’m learning it takes a good amount of humility to present yourself or rather your imagination, naked and raw before a jury of your peers. That’s not to say they were judgmental. I wanted to know exactly what they were thinking both good and bad. And, truth be told, I was so giddy about it, I wanted to break into laughter. FINALLY, it was their turn to discuss the fruits of my labor.
When I was younger, I would hand write stories and force my friends to read them. I’d tower over them with delight. “Have you reached the part where…” or “what did you think about…” I’m not sure why I ever stopped, fiction that is. I think I’m beginning to discover that part of me that loves to tell stories. And dare I say delight (frighten, creep, whatever) an audience?
The workshop illuminated an idea I hadn’t entertained. This is why I’m here, to write well and along the way understand my strengths and weaknesses. I’m that girl again, the one with the stories shoving them in peoples faces. So maybe I don’t have to know the bigger why just yet. Maybe it’s this one, the smaller one that counts.
Author’s Note: Expect a peak at my fiction submission next week. It won’t disappoint!
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