So different - being here at the Blue Ridge writer's conference. Always before there were all my plans and worries and strategies for talking to the folks I wanted to connect with. Now, since I have an agent and they have the contacting of publishers in hand, my perspective is completely changed.
The big talk is always about the appointments you were able to get with the agents, editors, authors, magazine folks, etc. . . There are 15 minute appointments all week, one after another, and jockeying around to get the last spot with the big publisher or the just-right agent, occupies much of the attendee's minds - and conversations. I'm not making any appointments. My agent has already said we'll talk, not as part of the scheduled appointments.
But I see myself. from years gone by, walking the halls. The nerves, the fear, the confusion and plain old sick to your stomach anxiety are evident every corner I turn, in person after person. And who would've ever thought I'd be where I am? Not me.
And that's something I'm trying to come to terms with right now. What is wanting too much? Reaching too high? Setting goals that really aren't normal or probable? I'm thinking I'm somewhat fearful of saying, or even realizing, just where I want to go. And I think I've tempered things all my life. Just tried things and then been surprised when they worked. Not that that is a bad thing, I'm not sure it would be good to live with outsized dreams.
So, that's what's on my mind this week--what if I really let myself fly? What if I embrace, and accept all the possibilities? What if?