Nervous

I've been wondering lately if publication is the right path for me.

Yes, I'm scared shitless.

Over the weekend, I lost a heated auction - Writers for Red Cross - for a query letter critique and phone call with a literary agent. Who knows how high the price would have climbed had I not hit a dead zone on the drive home, immobilizing me to bid any further. It was sold by the time I regained a signal.

As much as I wanted to win, I was relieved I lost.

Then the agent said she would give four more critiques and phone calls to anyone who matched the winning bid. Cue sweat. I fearfully and excitingly agreed to match the winning bid, and so an agent will critique my query - yay! - and I will speak with her on the phone - a-ah!

What an unbelievable opportunity. For the agent, I imagine it's simply another day, but for me, it's, I don't know exactly what it is, but it feels big. Not I'm-going-to-instantly-find-an-agent big - this particular agent has already, kindly, rejected me - but when I think about it, I get nervous.

Nerves are nothing more than an indication I'm alive. So I'm going to live-the-shit out of this moment, keep the contents of my stomach in my stomach, and remember all I'm doing is talking to another person.

I hope it works.