On Anxiety

So, remember that post from the beginning of the semester, in which I talked about how frustrating livejournal is and how NOT nervous I was about my creative writing class and have a NY Times bestselling author read parts of my first draft of a story? Do you remember that?

Because I find suddenly that my perspective on this is completely turned around. I've mastered LJ (as well as I need to, at least) but now, faced with the potential embarrassment of my life's work burning to pieces in front of my eyes while a crowd of people look on and laugh (that's only slightly hyperbolic, by the way) now I'm about lose my nerve completely and wish that I could disintegrate into the floor.

This brings to mind a dream a friend of mine once had. She had just emailed one of our professors a few poems she had been working on (in real life, not dream life) and she was feeling anxious. Her anxiety caused her to have a dream in which our professor tore up her poems, telling her they were worthless, and then began hiding the shredded pieces of poems about the room as a "finding game" for his young daughter--because that was all they were good for.

No joke. She really had this dream.

I've realized that I just need to stand as firm as a tree or mountain or some other time-tested firm thing and just own up to what I've written. Yes, it may be dreadful, but isn't that what a first draft is for? And yes, you may think it's silly but it's what I want to write...so I'm going to write it. So there.

Now, if I can somehow summon that attitude for Thursday evening, I might be in half-decent shape. Otherwise, I'll be known forever as "Sarah, the girl who disintegrated in to the floor."