Writers Who Kill

Nervous Nellie by Debra H. Goldstein

Sometimes, the best news brings the greatest worries.

Remember when you received your first two-wheeler bicycle? Not only were you excited and thrilled, but I also bet there was a little fear in the back of your mind about whether you would fall off.

How about the first day of school? Did you worry if the teacher would like you and if anyone would eat lunch with you?

On your first date, did you wipe your hands on your jeans, sneak a breath mint, and spend part of the evening wondering if there would be a first kiss?

As an author, when you hit send on that first story or book, did you wish you could take it back and make it better? Did you sweat the weeks until you saw an e-mail from the agent, editor or publisher? Did you hold your breath as you opened it and either jumped for joy at an acceptance or wallowed in sorrow at a rejection? And then, did you rewrite and go through the process again?

I’ve learned that a writing career can easily make one a Nervous Nellie. Besides the fear associated with whether work will be accepted or rejected, liked or hated, I’ve discovered other aspects to make me quiver in my boots.

Writing requires promotion. Promotion necessitates interaction with other people. I’m a shy introvert. Can you imagine how much fun mingling is? At my first Malice Domestic, I promised to talk to one person during the open seating breakfast time in the lobby.  I forced myself to ask a person if the extra chair at her small table was open and to begin a conversation. The engineer I sat with, probably the only person breakfasting in the lobby who was not attending the conference, was delightful.

Recently, my landline rang. I almost didn’t answer because it was an out-of-state number, which I assumed was a cold call. I only picked up the receiver because one of our daughters was in that state and she’d been known to use office phones instead of her personal cell.  To this day, I can’t tell you who I talked to. Anything she was saying went out of my head when she told me she was calling to tell me my story, The Night They Burned Ms. Dixie’s Place, was an Agatha Award Short Story Nominee. My hands shook as I hung up the phone and dazedly walked into the den to tell my husband. The moment wasn’t real.

Later, I learned my Alfred Hitchcock published The Night They Burned Ms. Dixie’s Place, is in fine company with stories I admire by writers I adore (Gretchen Archer, Barb Goffman, Gigi Pandian, and Art Taylor). Being in their company was enough to make me panic, but even more thoughts crossed my mind. What to wear? How many extra black shirts should I pack because I’ll probably drop food on them? Will anyone notice? Will I trip during the opening ceremonies? Will I become tongue tied on our panel on Friday at 2? Will I come up with something to give away at the banquet? If I go to the bathroom, will there be a seat holder? Win or lose, how will I react?

That last question calmed me down because I already knew the answer to it. There may be a moment of glee or despair, but because I respect every writer in the category, the outcome is somewhat immaterial. Sure I’d like to win, but I’m going to enjoy every moment of this Malice with the same exhilarating feeling of the wind blowing against my face and through my hair the first time I sped off on my pink two-wheeler.

Writing doesn’t come easy, but the support of the community makes all the possible questions I could think of meaningless. Being in this together keeps the butterflies where they belong.

BTW, one factual disclaimer: the first time I tried riding my two-wheeler, I took a turn too fast and broke my arm. That day, I discovered how supportive the medical community can be.