I’ve mentioned that I’m trying to recapture my writerly spirit; apparently, to do so I’ve also got to spend a boatload of money… which seems to be how end up doing a lot of things, I should confess. Regardless, the facts are as follows:
I have also signed up to participate in the event’s Manuscript Mart, which means I will be meeting with an editor to discuss twenty pages of my work, which he or she will have read prior to our meeting.
I have lost my mind.
After registering, I spent a majority of Monday flapping my hands about like a chicken and all but clawing at my face, because I am so stressed out by this whole situation. All I could think about was scene towards the end of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides when a Lisbon sister dies from an overdose. I just had the image in my head:
She had on so much makeup that the paramedics had the odd feeling she had already been prepared for viewing by an undertaker, and this impression lasted until they saw that her lipstick and eyeshadow was smudged. She had clawed herself a little, at the end.
If I’m not careful, I feel as though that could easily be my fate — though you should know that I don’t have any sisters. Still, I can see it: slapping on the face powder and exuberantly outlining my eyes, pouring a river of pills down my throat and, at the very last minute, sluggishly scraping at my neck with my nails… This is another sign that I am freaking out — I get overly dramatic.
Anyway, I’ll keep you posted on how everything unfolds…