Funny how you can find yourself in the middle of something all-consuming, and not remember exactly how you got there.
That describes me in relation to the next big step in my fiction writing life. Somehow in the past two months I learned there's a writers' group here in Pennsylvania called Pennwriters. And I learned they're having their annual conference not twenty-five miles down the road from me.
And after thinking and debating and weighing the relative value of networking and exposure vs. new shocks for the car, I elected to join the Pennwriters organization and register for the conference.
It's this coming weekend, and may I say I'm very nervous? It's not meeting all the new people; I do that constantly in the course of my job. It's the fact that I've signed up for a pitch session with an agent and I've never done that before! And is The Single Eye traditionally publishable at all, seeing that a few chapters of it have appeared on this blog? How do I keep it out of the Christian fiction ghetto? And what if I just sit there gape-mouthed and babble?
At least I have my logline written:
Two young architects struggle to preserve their practice, their love, and their integrity when a diabolical would-be client refuses to take no for an answer.
Then there's the Read and Critique session on Friday night. I'm submitting the first two pages of the second book, Singing Lake Farm. What if everyone says the beginning stinks but what I have is so tied in with what I've written after it that I'm incapable of changing it?
What if, what if, what if . . . ?
Nevertheless, off I shall go to Moon (that's where the conference is, in a town called Moon) this coming Friday and act like I know what I'm doing. Having spent the money on this little get-together, I intend to get the last dime's worth of good out of it I can.
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