The Show
I had my big show/book party on Friday – the Quinceanera You Were Too Poor to Have. I’m just going to come out and admit it… I was disappointed by the turn out. We only had about forty or fifty people show up. However, I really can’t complain because they were super awesome people and it was fun to read for them. And, seriously – I’ve done shows with far less of an audience.
I enjoyed the actual reading. I haven’t been doing it a lot lately, and when I do, I always promise myself that I’ll do it more in the future. There’s something about reading my own words to other people that makes me feel so connected to… to life, I guess. When I read something aloud and hear the audience laugh or gasp or just listen – when I feel them understanding what I meant to say – it just erases all the stupid little doubts and insecurities I’ve had about my work. About my value as a writer. I feel like I have a contribution to make, and then, in turn, like everyone else does, too. We all have stories to tell. I’m grateful that I have the opportunity to tell mine and that people seem to like them. You know?
Thanks to all of y’all who went. I hope you had fun.
The next reading I get to do is in a couple of weeks, for a local college. I’m glad that got set up so soon. I was looking for something to look forward to.
Frustration and Dread
I’m starting to feel that way that I feel when I’ve been working at a corporate job for more than a year. Trapped. Hopeless. Like I’m wasting big chunks of my time doing something that no one will ever care about.
Every day I think about how nice it would be to do something else. To do something that matters. To make something beautiful or awesome or scary or funny or just interesting. To go outside, gosh dang it. Into the sun for just a freaking moment.
The longer I live like this, the more the frustration turns into a need to do something BIG. Something crazy and reckless. Like a sonic boom. Like a goddamned explosion. Without caring about the consequences… where the pieces fall.
The longer I live like this, the more the dread of each workday morning turns into something physical – like acid, bile, tumors, snakes, monsters in my gut.
Something has got to give very soon. I feel it.
(Real-world translation: I think I’m in the wrong industry, y’all.)
