I’ve never been a particularly patient person.
If I want something, I want it. Not five or ten minutes or an hour from now, but now.
And right now, I’m sitting on pins and needles because I recently handed off the first portion of The Novel to The Fella to read for the very first time.
I feel sick about it, like I’ve handed off my baby to someone I met on the street, even though the fella has been in my life for several years now and knows quite a bit about The Novel. There’s still just that, “I-can’t-believe-I’m-letting-him-read-it” mentality.
Which is pretty weird considering that I’ve been writing for a newspaper with a huge readership for six and a half years, so it’s not like I’m not comfortable with people reading my work – it’s just that this is my work, you know? It’s not about an event or a local person – it’s culled from me and my imagination.
I’m nervous to hear his reaction as only the second person who’s read The Novel. The first was my mother, who I gave it to a few years back, but the fella, he’s the most-creative person I know, so his opinion means a lot, and I can’t wait to hear it once he finishes it.
In the meantime, I’ll continue mapping the rest of the story out – and try not to bite my nails.