So life of late has been, to put it mildly, interesting. Things I thought I'd outgrown, personality defects I'd rubbed away against the pumice stone of life, suddenly have come rushing back to the surface. Where there had been a shiny reflection of God's beauty, it's now pock-marked, dull, and lifeless.
So my title. What does that have to do with my angst, you say? I had signed up a few months ago for the Muse Online Writers Conference that Nikki talked about last week. A couple of days ago I got an email with the info on the different things available to participate in.
I don't doubt it. I'm sure when the time comes, I will participate in that particular presentation because I want to know the secret. (Which I'm sure is something basic like "write everyday", "have a great outline so you never lose your way while writing", or "put all your kids in a spaceship and welcome them home in twenty years while you write".)
But until then, I'm going to crawl under a rock and lick my wounds. This writing business is brutal on the ego.