1. When my phone rings, I rarely answer.
2. When my doorbell rings, I rarely answer.
3. Unless you're someone who loves me (preferably unconditionally), I probably will never call you on the phone. Yeah, no probably. I won't. I'll text. Better yet, give me your email.
4. If I run into you somewhere I'm not expecting to run into you, I'll usually pretend not to see you unless you say hello first, in which case, awesome. So in the future, do that. And pretend to be excited to see me. If you don't I'll assume you hate me and wish I were never born.
5. I have only a select, very small group of critique partners and beta readers for my work.
6. I will put off showing my writing or talking about it for as long as humanly possible. If you do read my work, assume I came close to pissing my knickers before I sent it to you.
7. Heights freak me out. Also, bugs. And rejection. And germs. And crowds. And people on stilts. And people. Did I say rejection?
One of the few things that makes the above easier is alcohol. And maybe also my BFFs who threaten to boil my laptop if I don't cut that shit out (this probably puts my BFFs on the list at #7). Aside from the normal(?) cynicism and paranoia, fear is probably the foremost reason for holding back when I could otherwise act. I have this painful awareness of ALL THE THINGS THAT COULD GO WRONG OMG. So. Yeah. I don't post my writing anywhere.
But I'm exhausted with fear. Publishing is a tough business in which you have to be audacious. There's no point in writing a ballsy manuscript if I don't have the cojones to take it to the next level. So I'm going to do something I've never done. I'm gonna be a nervy little badass and let you read a snippet of this ballsy book of mine. Just a paragraph. Baby steps.
Pretty much it's like I'm posting a naked picture of me. If you're assuming I've wet myself, well, you could be right.
He pulls me into him, and we become a mesh of limbs and skin, a tangle of arms and legs wilting into sleep. In this moment we are the purest version of us, undiluted like uncut heroin and just as intoxicating and addictive. But when his breathing evens and his heartbeat against my back steadies and slows, I remember the right thing. I remember it's only in the dark, secret places that we belong to one another, unscattered, unbroken, undenied. It's only here in the dark we won't destroy us.
In the event you're curious, the ms is a YA with subtle supernatural elements. Magical realism, maybe? Think If I Stay with jagged edges and a seriously unreliable narrator.