Hang in there, I'll think of something...

Ok, I have an opinions page now. Maybe I should have consulted my remaining three braincells and asked if I actually had an opinion to share. I thought I was pretty much full of lots to say about just about anything and now for the week or so that I have been staring at my Gossip Galaxy page, I seem keyboard shy, digitally illiterate and without an opinion, rumor, independant thought, idea or anecdote to share. Cold feet(fingers)? Preoccupied with important real life matters that are yet unworthy of mentioning?

Performance anxiety?

I'm not sure I know the answer yet, but maybe I have been micro managing my life just a miniscule too much to find the time or energy to put forth an intitial permanent record on my editorial page. I am going to cop out by saying these first few posts will require more time and consideration so I might put my best foot forward.

Hell of a start so far.

So my thoughts for today:

I have sent my manuscript of EYES to the Copyright House and am on the verge of finally selecting my publishing house. It looks as if Random House is going to win by virtue of being middle of the road. Nothing like making a leap of faith with an ounce of drama and a pound of moderation.

Man have I grown old or what? What ever happened to that youngster that was never afraid to jump in with both feet and a five pound cinder block?

This entire venture is the brainchild and prodding result of friend and blogger Sue the official Iowa state 'wench'. Aside from Sue's embarrasingly eager support, my editor had some very nice things to say about the EYES ( as in EYES, A COLLECTION OF 13 UNSTABLE TALES )manuscript (of course as my editor she may be slightly biased since I paid her gobs of money). And to my relief she was relatively merciful or exceedingly lazy in her editorial notes. So I can tell myself that if I am a complete failure it will at least be in some part due to poor marketing. Finger pointing is never a good sign of success, wouldn't you agree?

I have never claimed to be on a level of King, Capote, or Steinbeck for that matter but I have purchased and read more than a few books in my life that I have considered to myself I was capable of writing that story better, and truly there are some mass marketed books out there that a furry gerbil's input could improve (even if by just shredding the works at the bottom of a cage). So why not me? If someone wants to pay for material to line their birdcage with, who am I to say no?

I wonder if my writing here reflects in any way the incredible fear that has been building in the pit of my stomach for the past few days. This is really happening, ok. I'm ready. It's just that it brings to mind me on the night before presenting a book report in front of three dozen critical and ruthless prepubant peers for the very first time. Only this time I really should know better, and I am not naked. You've had that dream, right? Standing before the world in your all-together, waiting for judgement. No? Me Neither. And I don't recall having a dream similar to that from my youth either. This is just another adventure, an experiment and hobby to keep me occupied and generally out of trouble.

What can go wrong?