Pencil to Paper

The Daily Life of a Compulsive Writer

The Terror Diaries, pt1 July 11, 2011

Filed under: Writing — katblogger @ 1:34 PM
Tags: , , ,

I am currently hiding in my bedroom.

This is not something I typically do. However, I think I have reasonable cause. You see, yesterday I finished printing my novel rough draft of Strange Bedfellows. There was one unfortunate paper jam resulting in an interesting diagonal-type effect, but other than that things went smoothly. I was not pleased. That meant I had to hand it over.

The day of judgement arrived, and no one mentioned it. Neither my mother or brother, my appointed beta testers, seemed to remember I was going to let them read anything I’d written. After all, I never did. I almost talked myself out of it three times as the blind panic mounted.

At about ten in the morning, my blind panic was temporarily diverted when my mother announced that I was going to learn to drive on the highway. Although I’m well past sixteen, I despise cars and all of what they stand for, and dislike driving more than thirty miles per hour. A different kind of blind panic set in.

However, once I realized I wasn’t dead on the interstate and that my novel would never see the light of day if no one read it, I steeled myself. Feeling the same sense of fear and inevitability as I had behind the steering wheel of a car going sixty-five miles per hour, I walked downstairs, clutching my manuscript to my chest. Under the neutral gazes of my family (probably highly amused at my panicked state) I explained:

1. I was completely terrified, and planned to hide in my room once the manuscript was handed over.

2. There’s only one hard copy – there’s no way I’m letting my little brother loose on my electronic version. If they found bits they liked, disliked, or found confusing, I’d supplied handy post-it notes to mark the areas.

3. As I explained in my last post, the current state of my manuscript is very rough. I’m only handing it over because my strange almost-courage might desert me.

After imparting my wisdom, I threw the manuscript down and ran upstairs, where I currently reside sprawled on the floor, with a laptop and a book on writing for young adults. The book is kind of helpful, even though it was written in 1995 and devoted a chapter on what the internet was. The laptop, in my opinion, is an evil machine bent on my destruction, with a distressing habit of devouring my files and losing them somewhere in the depths of cyberspace. But here I will remain for as long as possible, too embarrassed to come out. I’m not sure what I’ll do about dinner yet.

Perhaps I’m overreacting just a tad. Still, thoughts keep chasing themselves around my mind. I could have polished it more. I could have shown them something else. ANYTHING else. One of my normal novels. This one’s too weird. It’s awful. Ugh. Maybe I should jump out the window and run for Canada.

Hopefully in a few hours I’ll have calmed down. Hopefully this will be the hardest time, and after this I won’t be afraid to share my work. I hope so, anyway. Otherwise I’m going to be pretty hungry in a few days.

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