I don't know why this monkey has wings or fangs, or why his glass is empty. I do know that he is part of a bizarre, new trend in taxidermy and I want to meet the person who created him, and dressed him, and I want to know what happened to his drink. And you should know that, because of all these questions, I will be taking a taxidermy class in January. Can't wait to blog about it. But that's not why I'm writing to you today.
I started this blog a little over two years ago so that I could work on my voice and my rhythm, and learn how to believe in myself.
Because its safe here, I focus on keeping my writing honest. It was hard for me to admit to you that I didn't see my friend before he died, that I was not a good wife, that I got run over by a pedicab, that my family won't tell me where my brother lives, that sometimes I blame my father and worse, I blame myself. But you listened, and you didn't judge, and you let me know you were there, and I appreciate that. Truly I do.
What you read here is what goes on inside my head... all the time ...thoughts rise, and spin, and erupt and sometimes clash and then, finally, hopefully ...settle.
Well, I've stirred the pot. I couldn't let things be. I took a HUGE leap and contacted an agent that I met a few years back and she has agreed to take me under her wing. She believes in me. I can hear it in her voice. And I am starting to believe in myself. But I am really scared.
I made it through the editing stage. I've signed the contract. Now... I wait.
Can I handle rejection?
I honestly don't think so. That's what the GIANT voodude doll was all about in my post titled What's Right with Me - me trying to cope with rejection.
This week Wendy (the agent) is pitching a story I wrote called DEAD FLOWERS to Rolling Stone Magazine. I was thrilled when she first told me but now, I'm petrified. I am after all, an average, 52 year old woman who seldom reads books, can't spell, can't sleep, has low self-esteme, and very little post high school education.
I wasn't going to tell you this. I didn't want to jinx it. I didn't want you to think I was full of myself. I didn't want you to doubt me. But then I remembered...its safe here.
Yes, I know the odds are stacked against me but if they print my story - my life will finally begin to make sense - in an odd, round and round and round, sort of way.
How is that you say?
~ The only thing we placed on my son's casket was the DVD of Almost Famous, a pack of Marlborough reds, and some wild flowers that we picked from the park across from the funeral home that were dead by the time the doors opened.
~ The movie is the semi-autobiographical portrayal of Cameron Crowe as a Rolling Stones Reporter. Ben Fong Torres is his editor. My daughters last name is Fong. Hunter S. Thompson wrote for Rolling Stone. Hunter S. Thompson was my sons favorite writer.
This might sound like a stretch to some, but to me, it feels like the eternal cycle of birth, death, and rebirth - know in Hinduism & Buddhism as SAMSARA.
~ Samsara...I met the writer and director of the movie at a writing retreat in Paris. The same place I met Wendy, now my agent. It's a beautiful movie. If you haven't seen it I highly recommend it.
When I was young I dreamed of being a Rolling Stone reporter. Now that I am old, I dream that Rolling Stone publishes my story and then comes the book deal and then the movie - which Cameron Crowe directs. At the world premier I meet Mick and Keith, and I tell Keith that we invited him to our wedding and he never responded...
Keith and Mick photo courtesy of M24digital.com
But there are questions - a downward spiral of self doubt, self loathing, and disbelief...
Will I be able to handle fame? Should I get my boobs done? What about hair extensions? Where would I live if I could live anywhere in the world? Will my marriage stay strong? Will my business collapse once my sorted past is magnified? What makes me think I'm a writer? Will the words keep flowing? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing...
But its safe here.... its safe for me to tell you what I feel deep inside...
I've done all I can do. I've honored it, and released it.
Now I wait.
Now I live.
This post is part of a monthly participation piece for the Insecure Writers Support Group
Because I'm not the only one.