Writing and other insecurities. . .

So, I'm getting ready for my trip to Atlanta with hopes of pitching the next Great American Novel to the Editor and or (hopefully both) Agent of my choice.
Isn't it funny how your dreams can quickly turn into nightmares?
All of a sudden I understand Stephen King. Perfectly. Now that's scary.
Months ago, like most of my newbie friends I eagerly signed up for the RWA conference in Atlanta. Hey, I told my husband writing is a business and you have to learn the craft, pay your dues, etc. Yada Yada Yada. He agreed.
Money allotted for trip to Atlanta so Ane can sell her novel.
The fact that he supports me is great. I feel good.
So being a PRO I eagerly get onto the website to set up my editor/agent appointments for the conference. However, being only a PRO, (someone who has put themselves forward in hope of pursuing a full time writing career, someday) I found myself in line behind the Published Authors, this years Golden Heart Finalists, Golden Heart winners and finalist from every year since the inception of RWA, and any other PRO who didn't have to go to the day job before being able to sign on to the site.
Needless to say, it was tough, but being a PRO I staunchly moved forward with my plan. And I got an appointment. Yippe!
Here's where it gets. . . what is the word? Oh yeah, I'm the wordsmith. I believe the word is . . .Interesting.

It's funny the things that grab your attention. I saw an article today on AOL about cars "designed for adventure". Whoever wrote the article, which didn't capture my attention past the lead line, has not, in my opinion ever operated as the Captain of the Car Pool.
My idea of a car designed for adventure is the one in which stray bits of homework, out-of-date coupons, and French fry bags from yesterdays lunch have no place. The man, and I'm sure it was a man, who penned the savvy article meant to draw attention to overpriced gas guzzling sport cars meant to make men with expanding waists and receding hairlines believe they needed to run right out and buy a sports car.
Let's see, how do you hook up the state required babyseat in that puppy?
Or how about the adventure of teaching your sixteen year-old son who is sure he knows everything how to use the clutch on the incline of the overpass in rush hour traffic? What? Not enough adventure?
Gentlemen, I say start your engines and manage screaming toddlers in child restraints whining for non-healthy snacks while your spouse decides to reach you on the cell in bumper to bumper rush hour traffic because he can't find his. . . keys, wallet, briefcase, whatever.
Motherhood. . . Now there's an adventure.

:>

Ane will be blogging soon!