So January is behind us and I don’t feel that I’ve accomplished very much, but I guess I have been plodding along.
With February comes a wonderful opportunity to participate in a “Romance Author Panel” at my local library on Tuesday, the 6th. Susan Barclay and I from No Law Against Love will be teaming with Eve Silver (His Dark Kiss) and Michelle Rowen (Angel with Attitude) to discuss the romance genre in general and trends we see happening. (I’ll be sure to mention the increased interest in Victoriana!)
Like I said, this is a wonderful opportunity--and I’m scared to death. Not only will I have to be a REAL WRITER (my fellow Victorians assure me my feelings of inadequacy are not unique) but I have good reason to be nervous. I’ve done something like this before.
In the summer of 2006, I had the opportunity to do a brief reading along with five other writers. As luck would have it, I was scheduled to go last. The first three writers had fabulous stories which they each told clearly and passionately. The fourth writer also had a great story, and one which was very emotional. By the time she finished reading, I was literally sobbing. I don’t mean wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of my eye, but gut-wrenching, gasping for breath, convulsive weeping.
And now, immediately, I must read. Read? Hell, I couldn’t even SEE. Every word ended with a sniffle--which really cuts into your reading pace, let me tell you. It was such a disaster that I finished one paragraph and announced it was enough. Mind you everyone else read their entire piece. The worst part of course, was that I was the ONLY one who was the least bit moved by my fellow writer’s words.
I learned my lesson though. In December, there was another reading opportunity. I received permission from the host to go first, although I did get the impression he thought I was pretty nervy. When I got to the podium I explained the reason behind my presumptuous behaviour and then read beautifully--although I still can’t get the hang of looking around at the audience without losing my place. And yes, I ruined it all by tripping over my coffee when I went back to my seat.
The last writer told an emotional, heart-breaking story. Several different people (strangers!) came up to me afterward to say how pleased they were I’d asked to go first. They all mentioned they saw me crying.
So, how will I embarrass myself this time?