I’ve told a handful more of real life friends about this blog. It was during a love-fuzzy day for two friends and I felt wrapped in friendship and so was brave.
“Ladies,” I said in the crowded cafe, “in the interest of being open and deepening friendships I have something to share with you.” And then I blabbed my own deepest and darkest secret and probably shit my pants a little.
No one was surprised – as no one has been yet – and they were all eager to be sent the URL (Hi, if any of you are reading – eek! – but I’m still gonna write like no one is reading.) I explained why I’ve felt the need to keep it a secret and each of them admitted to their own versions of hiding their true selves from the world. It was nice. But I’m still queasy.
It’s a lot to bare. And to bear.
Speaking of sticking my neck out, I’ve decided to join in the Smut Marathon again. There’s a giant pool of starting writers (102!) which will be quickly cut down to a more manageable number by Round 3. Last year I got knocked out in Round 2, so if I make it to 3 I’ll consider it a win. If not, that’s ok, too. I’m not actually that great up against “real writers” who know their grammar and whose creative tools are more sharpened.
I just slap my emotions on a page and disdain commas for effect and hope y’all like what you read.
I can’t tell you which entry is mine – but I can tell you to go vote. You get to pick your top 3 choices and if you’re feeling really benevolent you can leave a comment with some feedback about them (and your least favorite 3). I’ll be the one reading the comments between her fingers.
Voting is open until Friday.
My heart is open until I don’t know when.