One of the things on my bucket list (though honestly I didn’t know it was called that until the movie of the same name), right up there with seeing the aurora borealis is to attend a writer’s conference. I read interviews, statements, blogs, posts, notes, and articles about them and feel excited and willing to throw myself out into the world, learn, interview, and merge myself into the realm in which I undoubtedly feel a part.
Then what on God’s green earth is keeping me from packing my bags and attending?
Fear. Not the fear of being around people, nor the fear of wasting my time or money; but the fear of presenting myself to strangers, trying to sell my thoughts and ideas to someone I don’t know. It’s not even fear of rejection that paralyses me, but the fear of acceptance, of finding that one agent that is as excited as I am about the ramblings of my imagination.
Why? You may ask, and all I can think of is: what if I can’t live up to the responsibility? What if I don’t make my deadlines, what if I stay in bed all day and can’t find that perfect phrase, or just the right word to describe exactly what my character is feeling?
Yea, that for me is scarier than anything else. Though I know I can, I know my ability grows and develops as I grow and develop, I can’t seem to take that first step into the sunshine; exposing myself for what I truly am.
(photo curtesy of flickr.com)