Becoming external

So I haven’t really started to market my book yet. It won’t be published for another month or two. But my fairy godparent suggested doing open mikes to get the word out, or just to get myself out, so I’ve done four: two poetry nights at the Cantab and two Art is Life Itself Thursdays at Haley House.

Do you want to know what this feels like? It sucks. It feels like I’m turning myself inside out and is just about as comfortable. Half an hour before an open mike I usually get this sick sensation as if I’ve just moved into an empty, unfurnished apartment in a strange city where I don’t know anybody and my front door doesn’t lock properly and the sun is going down. It’s not safe. It’s not normal. I really shouldn’t be here and I’ve never known this kind of dread.

Sometimes the next day, I feel like I can do anything.

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