Some of my longer-term readers may recall that Fatty's brother is a writer. He has written four books, all of which were sold in mainstream bookstores. He regularly writes for several newspapers and magazines, is also on radio and occasionally does interviews on TV. He is our family's only claim to fame! So it seemed to make sense for me to seek his advice about an entry I have been working on for a medical writing competition.
I say it seemed to make sense, because now I am obsessively checking my e-mail every 3 minutes, looking to see if Writer has sent back his critique of my prose. I'm nervous, I'm antsy, oh my goodness, what was I THINKING??!
I asked Writer to help me with some awkward phrasing, and to tell me what might be better cut out; what might be best more padded-out. I told him I wouldn't take offence, and that part is certainly true. I won't be snooty or miffed by any suggestions for improvement. I can't promise I won't be hurt, though, if he tells me that what I have written is beyond salvaging, for instance. Or if he kindly suggests I might be better learning the ukelele. I can't believe I have shown a published writer my half-baked, half-assed short story. What was I thinking?!
I dreamt last night that Writer told me my piece was offensive to Canadians. There is not a single mention of Canadians in the story. Perhaps the dream ended before Writer was able to list all the other nationalities in the world as well.
I hope you are all enjoying your day. I'm going now, to check my e-mail......