AKA Jessie doesn’t know how to be an adult and interact with other humans who seek to aid her in her quest for manuscript editing.
Sooooo yeah. Another blog style entry from me this week at Stevie’s encouragement. He’s been… moderately helpful in this whole process, but really, I think I rather enjoy being freaked out; after all, if I didn’t love it, why would I do it so very, terribly often?!?
Being a grown up is awful.
Basically, I’ve narrowed down my editor hunt to two amazing individuals on Upwork, but now it’s like: “Oh. Right. Actually hiring someone. Oh right, ACTUALLY LETTING A STRANGER READ MY (book) WRITING.”
Okay. That’s probably enough capitalized yelling to convey my internal dismay. Maybe. I can barely bring myself to casually mention my book to you, lovely readers whose sites I’ve visited, do I really think I’m capable of full on GIVING my fledging book to a unknown entity? I have never written to be read, you know? I write ’cause I like it. Genuinely. And now I’m scared. All of the scared and anxious about eventualities that may never arise. *flails*
I’m working myself into a panic. And do you know what has always helped me out of that? Writing. So here’s some as a thank you for listening to me ramble:
The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt #134!
FLY / KEY / LINE / DRY / ROD
My hand hurts from jotting down lines,
Casting them forever onto innocent page,
Only to find little worth in the end result:
Nothing but a dented surface; my ink has run dry.
Try as I might and lie as I try,
I haven’t found the key to creating,
The means to make a masterpiece,
Without pain as the process, as the price.
A sliver, a slice taken from a splintered whole.
Is this the way to a story worth being told?
Corrupt the canvas to forge new foundations,
Founded in the suffering of spear to hand,
Shaft to hope, rod to heart.
Is art deserving of such agony?
Such a nominal fee: to bleed –
Beauty for another’s amusement.
Love so that another may fly.