In two weeks I will be at the Napa Valley Writer's Conference in a fiction workshop led by Antonya Nelson. I loved Nelson's short stories even before I found out she would be teaching at the conference.
This is the first competitive admittance conference I've gotten into. Today I received access to the manuscripts of the other participants in my workshop to read and critique. I am having a problem with Adobe on my computer so I haven't been able to open any of them yet, let alone read them, but I already feel my confidence draining away.
I knew this would happen, but I hoped it would just happen on the drive up to Napa, not now, when I have so much time on my hands to ask myself why I am trying to write anyway.
It's a hot day, even here at the beach. The air conditioning at the place I go to yoga is not working, so I will be skipping class this afternoon. A walk along the beach is unappealing. Maybe I will just stay in my cool bedroom and finish reading "Pictures At An Exhibition," watch a Netflix movie or two (so that I can send them back tonight and get the next season of "MI-5" by Wednesday) and put considerable energy into not comparing myself to others and reminding myself that this is supposed to satisfying and fun.
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