My manuscript did not win in the PNWA historical fiction category, but this morning I’m feeling pretty good about the entire experience .
I was a finalist!
I met Margie Lawson, a psychologist, writer, and writing instructor I had never even heard of. She gave workshops on topics such as visceral emotion and rhetorical devices, all of which I already know (don’t I?) and yet I (gasp, groan) have fallen back into my prologue and first two chapters. For now, my nagging doubts about how to proceed with my unassailable rewrite are scattered.
Of course I bought a big bag full of books and got some of them autographed.
I met other writers who are on this journey, too. (No writer writes alone–conference motto.)
I thought often of my daughter Pearl at the American Idol auditions. When anxiety threatened (I really would have liked to win a prize, competitive person that I am), I thought of Pearl bravely singing in front of the AI producers, one of thousands of other unknown teens and 20-somethings.
And this morning, I got up early, filled my thermos with coffee, walked out to my potting shed, and spent two hours writing.
It’s all good.