Pining for SiWC

Okay.

First? Not dead.

Second? The Surrey International Writers Conference was amazing. Flat out. Full on. Amazing. It was with great sadness that I cut off the (very hospital-like) participant armband when I got home that Sunday night.

The expected post-con stupor hit me at the same time that my synthroid dose went up and my glasses changed prescriptions to progressive lenses.

passThird? Those glasses were the fucking devil. It was like they sold me a car with the warning, “So the turning radius is terrible and the blind spots monstrous, but just drive it for two weeks and you’ll totally get used to it.” Probably, but why would I want to? Why on earth would I want to ruin my peripheral vision, make half the rest of it sharp, and what remains an eye-screwing, blurry wasteland? (Not to mention that they did have my pupil distance miss-measured and the ‘reading glasses’ portion merely bolded everything but in the end wasn’t necessary as I am blind from about six inches onward anyways…)

With a HELLS NO, I brought the glasses back and swapped them out for a regular pair. And boy howdy, what a freakin’ improvement.

So between being jacked up on a zippier dosage and dragged down by the utterly new-to-me experience of my vision being made significantly worse after a new pair of glasses, I was a very tired, tired yo-yo and all that post SiWC excitement bled away and let some of the way-too-familiar fear-induced paralysis back in.

That said, I’m back on the wagon. Bit by bit. ‘Cause I have to be: I landed two requests from agents while at the conference, and nothing has felt that good, that encouraging, in a very long time. When something like that happens to me, I tend to want to hold onto it. Like the expensive notebook I might splurge on, or the fine set of watercolor pencils, my first instinct is to save it because I may not have it in the future. It’s taken me a long time to break that habit when it comes to physical objects; I am still learning how to use the things that nourish the soul.

The fear of scarcity is something I will always wear around my neck, I suppose, but I must learn to stand, walk and run despite that chain.

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