It's the first Wednesday of the month, which means it's time for another action-packed installment of the Insecure Writers Support Group!
Please click on the above link for more information about the group and/or for a complete list of participants.
This month's co-hosts are: E.M.A. Timar, J. Q. Rose, C. Lee McKenzie, and Raimey Gallant.
This month's (optional) question asks, "It's spring! Does this season inspire you to write more than others, or not?"
The short answer to this question is no.
There's a longer answer, but I don't really feel like getting into it. Instead, I thought I might ramble a little about how damn socially awkward I am. I don't think this post has much of a point, but I guess we'll see where the rambling takes us...
(Note: I don't know what the above gif has to do with anything, but I kind of liked it so I decided to use it.)
Okay. So, here's the thing—and this certainly won't be a shocking revelation by any means—I am seriously socially awkward. I have very little ability to interact with the human race without coming across as some kind of giant awkward goofball. And after I do interact with the human race, I feel anxious about the encounter for days, if not weeks.
For example, yesterday I was able to make a quick trip back to New Hampshire to visit my old writers group. It was really great to see some old friends, meet a few new faces, and hey—the library still has my book Effigy on the shelves. I don't think anyone has checked it out in a while, so it's really even nicer that they keep it around.
And because the group asked nicely and made sad puppy dog eyes at me (Note to self: become less of a sucker for sad puppy dog eyes), I shared with them an excerpt from my in-theory-will-someday-be-published-but-who-knows novel Second Nature. The excerpt was very well received. Like, really well received—and this is not a group of people in the habit of heaping false praise on people. Which, naturally, made me want to crawl under a table or disappear into a hedge Homer Simpson style...
It got worse when one of those people decided to pull up Effigy reviews online and read them out loud to the rest of the group.
I don't think I've ever run from a room so fast in my entire life.
(Second Aside: I really can't bring myself to read reviews. I tried it once, and though it was a lovely five-star review for which any author would probably kill, I felt horrible for weeks afterward. (More on that in a moment...) Because I have issues. Anyway, that said, I really do appreciate anyone who not only takes the time to read my book but who then takes the time to write a review for it. You are rock stars and I salute you!)
Now it's the next day, and I feel anxious and sick—physically sick—that I shared something I wrote with five whole people, and they liked it. (And that whole reading-reviews-out-loud thing, but that may be a different post altogether). I will continue to feel this way for days. It'll probably be a little worse because I'm writing about it in this blog, and I always feel the same way about anything I post on IWSG day (and every other day, too, truth be told.).
It's possible that I have issues.
But I suppose there's no way to know for sure.
Why did I share anything? Why couldn't I just sit there quietly? Damn you, puppy dog eyes!
I really need to look into become one of those reclusive writers who lives all alone in some cabin deep in the woods.
Just so long as the cabin has Internet. And chocolate. And Chris Hemsworth in a letterman jacket. (Waits to see if anyone gets the reference...)
All right, that seems to be as good a place as any to end this ramble. Thanks for stopping by!