Yesterday at work we were discussing the weekly coffee mornings at the library, and I was asked if I'd be interested in giving a talk about being a writer.
Inside my head this happened ...
On the surface I smiled pleasantly, though my first instinct was to scream NO! I once gave a 'best man's' speech at a friend's wedding years ago, and have never been so close to vomiting and fainting all at the same time, even though it went quite well in the end.
I hate that feeling. I'll shake, my voice will shake, I'll go red and the audience will know I'm nervous and feel nervous for me. However, IF I ever get published *cough, in this country, cough* I might be expected to give a talk here and there, so I figured it could be a good way for me to cut my teeth. Who would these people at the coffee morning be, I queried.
"Oh you know a few old dears, some mums, people wanting to support the library, that kind of thing. There's one old man who likes to come in for a cup of tea and a sleep."
I said I'd think about it. And then I said no. Because I'll only spend the next few weeks fretting about it and making myself feel ill otherwise.
Also, I feel like a fraud without an actual book I can hold up to prove I AM a writer. I can just picture the scepticism as Gladys demands to see my credentials, wanting tangible proof that I know what I'm wittering about.
Secondly, if it was people specifically turning up to hear someone talk about writing it might not be too bad, but it's not. Topics vary from week to week - from Medieval Chesham to finding a job online - but the audience remains the same. I'd only bore them rigid.
Thirdly ... well I suppose I'm a big ol' coward.
If I do ever get that publishing deal I expect it'll be a different story. I'll be begging them to let me give a talk about my 'journey'.
The problem will be shutting me up, but until then I'm keeping it zipped.
Well, Christmas flew by in a flash - and lovely it was too - and January got off to a busy start as I had a deadline for the second book ...
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