I am a writer.
It used to be that you wrote something worthwhile, and you take that to a publisher. Now, a writer must come to a publisher with her work and an audience of ready readers.
I wrote something I’m told is worthwhile. And since then I’ve been hiding by promoting and building audiences for other people, causes, and organizations. Because the idea of doing that for myself makes me cringe.
I’m the kid who gets on stage to sing, but has to turn her back to the audience and face the wall to do it. I want to be the underground, unmarked club whose entrance is in an alley down a set of back stairs, that gets all its hype by word of mouth.
I’m happy to expose myself on the page, but revolt at the idea of asking people to look at it. It’s much like how I host – I love planning and throwing the party, but feel most awkward and unsure doing the inviting.
So that is what I’m doing here…painfully, reluctantly inviting readers to the party. I have to show a publisher that people want to come. So if you do, follow along, share things you read here freely, and subscribe.
I promise the party will be less excruciating than the invitation.