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Posted by: M.J. Fifield | on November 28, 2016
Today, I have a big announcement.
Well, big for me. For someone else, it might not be quite such a Big Deal, but it kind of is for me. In large part because what I am about to tell you terrifies the living daylights out of me. The dead daylights, too. (Well, if there is such a thing.) All the daylights are terrified out of me.
But it happening anyway.
To paraphrase my good friend, Eleanor Roosevelt, “you must do the thing you think you cannot do.”
What is the terrifying thing, you may be asking yourself. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s this:
Recognize that name in the middle? You know what it means?
This Saturday, I will be making a public appearance. As an author.
And I am terrified.
I don’t exactly excel at talking about myself. Or my work. Or, talking, for that matter. Unless I’m gushing about my eternal love for the collective works of Joss Whedon, my verbal skills are about on par with Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel. Only, I’m not nearly as articulate. And, truth be told, when I am gushing about my eternal love for the collective works of Joss Whedon, I quickly become a incoherent fangirl who sounds as though she’s attempting to communicate with dolphins.
And I can do neither of those things on Saturday.
So I don’t know how I shall pull this off, or what on earth I will talk about, but I imagine that it will involve me spending a lot of time this week practicing in the mirror, the shower, the car, and probably other locations, too.
Just as soon as I figure out what to talk about.