It's 3 o'clock on a Friday morning, and what can I tell you? I've been feeling the need to post. I want to commune with my blog. Not sure what to say, though. That internal censor seems to be gumming up the works, still.
I've had some lovely, thoughtful comments from Debra D.on the topics of honor and integrity. I'm not sure about my concept of same. I don't think it looks like hers, though-- a discrepancy which gives me pause. But I'm working it out.
In other news, I did a reading from my book project at an open mic on Monday. Top critique of the evening?
"She doesn't sound like she needs therapy. She sounds like she needs to be institutionalized."
Yes. Well. How can I argue?
So, I've been cringing about that since Monday. Still, part of the reason I chose to do this particular reading was to put out feelers for how I'd handle audience reactions to the story. If I'm ever going to put this work out there (which I really want to do) I need to deal with the fact that outing myself, even in a quasi-fictionalized way, as a crazy person, is going to elicit certain responses, not only from my audience, but from me, and all the fears and beliefs I've internalized about my diagnosis.
So. er. Mission accomplished?
On the other hand, I did get some lovely feedback about my imagery. And there's no question in my mind that my audience was deeply affected. You don't get a tortured silence like I did when people are simply bored.
I am the high witch of casting awkward palls!