Writing my first novel, sharing the words and process with all of you, querying agents for potential representation…it’s been a lot like I imagine it would feel to…
lose my virginity,
to a guy I’ve drooled over…for years,
who has no idea I exist,
all while being recorded,
naked, awkward, fresh, inexperienced,
only to send the video to sex experts for their opinion.
(Plus about 10 retakes of said video after input from trusted friends in an attempt to get it perfect.)
Butterflies and heart throbs because I’m finally “doing it.”
Dizziness and warmth because I’m aligned with a story, with my passion, with the characters, with myself.
Tension and tingles because, “What if I’m not who everyone thought I was? What if I’m too dark or wild or loud or intense or passionate? Will I be accepted?”
Expansion and contraction because maybe I’ll be seen as self-serving, but if I don’t go for it, if I’m not vulnerable, I’ll miss the climax…the view from the pinnacle.
Deep breaths and laughing shivers because, “oh my gosh, I just put my most unfiltered self out there,” and it’s a rush like I’ve never felt.
This experience, which is only just beginning, has healed and stretched and freed and isolated and expanded and pushed and exposed and demanded of me. It’s the creative outlet I’ve craved, the personal growth I never knew I needed, and the restoration of faith and trust I’ve hoped would be mine.
Sometimes, the only way to make something happen is to do it scared.