I'm basking in the glow of kudos and accolades today. Last night, after much hesitation and second-guessing, I finally posted to one of my message groups, an Emergency! fanfic story I wrote. It was a quickie-fic inspired by a Challenge put to the group Tuesday morning. I wrote the story during my lunch break that day, edited it, then edited it again before setting it aside late that evening, and letting it stew for a day. I wasn't 100% happy with it, and added a few more touches, reread it, spell checked it, and agonized over whether or not to post it, then finally took the plunge and did so. It's my first posted story. I know I posted bits and pieces of my abominable NaNoWriMo E! fanfic "novel" last year, but never the whole thing (And never will, I've decided; it's just too horrible, and would take way too much time to fix. Best to just let it rest in peace along side Chet Kelly.). This is the first completed piece I've posted publicly. It was a nerve-wracking experience, but one which has ended happily. I opened my Inbox this morning to several very positive reviews. The relief was almost overwhelming!

I had always thought I was a good writer, and dreamt of being published, winning a Pulitzer, etc. Heck, don't we all? In High School, my creative writing was always very well received, and I went off to University thinking I was potentially the greatest writer in the world, and would be rich and famous by the time I was twenty. So, I take Creative Writing 201, looking forward to sharing my great stories, and fine-tuning my amazing skills, and spent the entire quarter getting shot down, heavily criticized, and ended up getting a C; the lowest grade I've ever received for my creative writing. The Prof was a real hard ass, and just didn't like a single thing I wrote. I was devastated. Obviously, I didn't take criticism very well back then, and to be honest, I still don't. I fear criticism more than anything in the world. I fear it more than the threat of terrorism, which I can't do anything about anyway, more than the Boogeyman, who I'm convinced is still living under my bed, more than trying to find a dress that won't look too horrible stretched across my enormous ass to wear to the weddings of The Brides this spring, and more than falling in love again, which I will never do, anyway, so the point is moot.

Despite being a painful experience, however, getting papers returned with tons of red ink all over them didn't stop me from writing. It did stop me from sharing anything I wrote, and I never took another creative writing class while at University. Everything I wrote suddenly looked and sounded horrible, stupid, and worthless, and would likely net me another C, or lower. I still dreamed of being a famous, published author, but knew in reality it would never happen. I went on to live a moderately happy, completely anonymous life, secretly writing stories that would never see the light of day.

In recent years, I've gone back and taken a few writing classes through Cal Poly's Extended Ed program. I figure I'm a grown-up now, so I can handle disappointment better than I could at 18. The experience was much different than at University, and a lot more positive, but my writing ego is still pretty fragile, and despite the fact that I've been writing in this very public journal for a few years now, I still don't share much fiction. Somehow, and I know this will sound strange, my fictional stories are much more personal to me than this journal. Told you it would sound strange! What could be more personal than sharing my deepest, darkest secrets, my most beloved memories, or my innermost thoughts, hopes, and dreams? Things I create are more personal. My secrets, my memories, and my thoughts are not made up, not created in my imagination, they simply are, and I just write them down as is. With fiction (and poetry writing, too), I'm creating something. I'm making up a story out of my vivid imagination, creating a scene, a situation, manipulating characters (both ones I make up, and ones, as in fanfic, which I'm borrowing for a time), and for me it's very, very personal. These stories are like my babies, and sending them out into the world to be judged by strangers is very difficult.

I've been writing E! fanfic stories since last summer, but never had the guts to ask anyone to even beta them, let alone post them to a public forum. But, something about this little vignette I penned pushed my Bravery Button, and I just decided to go for it. After all, if it was poorly received, I could simply fade away, never to be heard from again. No big. But, that didn't happen. Instead, many of the board members wrote to let me know how much they enjoyed my story, how it made them laugh, and how the ending wasn't as lame as I thought it was. God, it felt so good! It makes me think, hey, maybe I can do this! Maybe I can write, and be published! Ha! No, I'm not holding my breath, either. I write an on-line journal, some seriously bad poetry (coming soon to burn your eyes out like the putrid flames of hell!), and Emergency! fanfic. And, you know what? That's not so bad! It's still writing, and even if I'm never published on paper, I'll still be published on-line, and I can still be considered a writer.

For those of you who are curious, my story, entitled "The Shopping Trip," is now posted at Two Chickies, and can be read here. Enjoy.