You will not believe the weakness that just arose in me.
The fear. The unbridled dread.
Creeping, creeping. Slowly up through my body. Heat swarming over my face. Sickness dropping in my stomach.
I felt damp.
I felt hot.
I couldn’t. But I wanted to. But I then I couldn’t.
And my finger was held poised, over the button of my laptop, waiting, waiting, hesitating on every sharp intake of breath, to open up…
The file, of writing criticism.
The file, from the tutor of my online writing course, that contained her very specific and educated, observations and critique of the first 3000 words of my novel.
I held my breath as I quickly ran over her comments. Click here. Click there.
Let out a short rush of air. No don’t relax yet.
Hold on some more. Yep I expected that.
Oh crap. Why didn’t I pick that up?
Out the air came tumbling. Like an earth embankment crumbling to the ground, and the water in the dam before it rushing forward in furious pressure.
That wasn’t so bad.
Oh wait. There is still audio feedback to be listened to.