I was nervous getting up this morning, wondering what the response would be to yesterday’s coming out. In addition to the comments there were several emails waiting. Nobody said don’t be silly, you’re not a writer. Lots of people expressed their support (thank you!), someone confessed similar writerly aspirations, someone else wondered whether literary competitions were really the way to go. There was a whole chorus of requests that I should publish some of my fiction on this website, despite my declaration yesterday that I am not going to.
Well, I’m still not. Here’s why. First, my stories might be rubbish. I know I can string a decent sentence together. But what if my plots are abominable, my characters forgettable, my themes laughable? They might be, and I would rather find this out from an anonymous agent or editor or competition judge than set myself up for public humiliation and random criticism.
Second, most of my friends know that I write and that I’m trying to get published. But to publicly call myself a writer is a huge and scary step. That’s what I mean by coming out. Now I’m going to have to truly commit to the hard slog of submissions to competitions, to magazines, to agents. Because if I don’t, I’ll have nothing to blog about, and cathythewriter will be revealed as a fraud.
So, dear readers, it would be lovely to have your companionship along the foggy, meandering, pot-holed road to publication. That is all I ask. In return I will do my best to entertain you with tales of my progress and musings on stuff to do with writing. Deal?