A few weeks ago I heard that a publishing company would offer a contract for a nonfiction book I wrote with coauthor Melissa Cook. A few months ago I learned I had been accepted at Sirenland, a compeititive writers conference in Positano, Italy. You would think I would jump up and down for joy.
I had the same reaction for both events, though stronger for the book contract. I wasn't happy at all. In fact, sad and scared would be more accuratem after I recovered from the shock. I was comfortable with my view of myself as someone who wrote hopefully but would never be published. I believed I would never really be a writer. It was a dream and an inconcieveable reality. Having a contract meant all the work involved in completing the book. Could I actually do it? What if I couldn't? What if in half the pages necessary I'd said all I had to say?
Weeks later I am esctatic. Now I am over the top with excitement. I will be published. I did it. How funny that having dreams come true scares the heck out of me.
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