I never win anything.
Ever.
I donate my money to worthy causes and someone else takes home the loot. I know this, and I'm okay with it. 
So, when Orly announced my name at the Women's Fiction Writers Association Retreat as the winner of the critique from agent Carly Watters of PS Literary, I almost wet pants.
And then I panicked.
And stalled. For two weeks.

A writer's biggest obstacle is fear. Fear no one will read their work. Fear they will, and hate it. Fear it's not worthy of publication. Fear of criticism. Fear they don't measure up, or their story is crap. And even the fear of success. It's an ominous demon, one I allowed to rule every thought since winning the critique. I became the perfect hostess to this uninvited guest, and boy did he take advantage--following my every move, breathing down my neck, and turning my stomach inside out. 
My work in progress (WIP) was ready, and I knew it. But I couldn't push my fear aside long enough to think clearly. Everything else seemed much more important--until I ran out of excuses. Then I really panicked, knowing I had to face this demon head-on. And I had to do it NOW! 

After several false starts (lunch, reheating my coffee, a snack, the dog needed feeding and a delivery at the door) I finally buckled down. It didn't take long for me to become immersed in the story again once I decided to ignore the incessant tapping of a grotesque demon on my shoulder. 

I love my story. I love my characters. And this time, I refused to give in.
I made a few minor changes to the first chapter of A Promise of Fireflies, polished it for errors, tidied up the synopsis, held my breath and hit the send button. 
Swoosh. Gone. 
Oh crap...I think I'm going to hurl.    
Definitely beer time.  You can stop laughing now. Yeah, I'm a wimp when it comes to both courage and choice of alcoholic beverages. But hey, it's the only beer that doesn't taste like rotten corn cobs. Give me a tasty Jack and Coke, or a delightful Callaway Late Harvest chardonnay and I'm a happy demon-slayer. But tonight's a beer kinda night. 

Sleep well, my friends. I know I won't. Unless hubby gives me his half of the sixer, because I know that dreadful demon is under the bed.

Until we meet again, CHEERS! 

HAPPY READING,

Susie Busy Woman image courtesy of stockimages at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Woman Hiding behind Computer courtesy of jesadaphorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Redd's Apple Ale image courtesy of Miller Brewing