How else do I explain this obsession? I’ve always had my head in a book. I’ve read the night away since I was a small child, with a green lamp clipped to the head of my metal bed. The plastic shade melted, because I kept the light on too long. But this? This new and virulent compulsion to learn everything about books, how they’re written, how they’re crafted, how they’re published will consume my sanity.
Perhaps this is some rare disease that lay dormant all these years, waiting for that cataclysmic reaction that would start my demise. Oh and I know who she is….. Asking me to beta…letting me lick just the tip of this magical world that creates the very things I’ve always loved.
The disease races through me, a craving I can’t quench, fed by brilliant posts that demonstrate a craft I could learn. A dream forms of feeding myself with passion instead of the mere sustenance of my accounting world. Could I really have an income from something I love, rather than something I happen to be good at? Preposterous!
Logic is overwhelmed by constant exposure to her accomplices whose lessons taunt me with confidence. She asks me to beta again, this time a proposal so different that she fears her publisher won’t buy in to the concept. She trusted me with this newborn. Me?!? And now I pace waiting to hear. How did she react to my comments? Will she still let me play in her sandbox? What if she cuts me off? Where will I get my next fix? Oh, I can’t stand this waiting! So I go back to the blogs and keep feeding the need.
Stars help me. I am lost.
And you my dear are her chief accomplice!!