Then there was the year I auditioned for Mrs. Clause for the Christmas play. She got to sing a solo. I've always loved music more then anything, and I jumped at the chance to audition. I remember sitting with my dad, and we practiced that damn song over and over and over again. When it came time for the actual audition, I choked. We didn't have a piano at home and so while I could sing the song perfectly, I had no idea what the piano part was supposed to be. When I fumbled, the other girls auditioning laughed at me.
I didn't bother putting myself in a position where anyone could really hear me sing for another 7 years. In 8th grade, some of the girls in my class decided to sing Tears in Heaven for the spring concert. Somehow, I convinced them to let me shoo-wop in the background along with them. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Being on the stage, even being in the background, was amazing.
The following year, I asked our new music teacher if I could sing a solo for the Christmas concert. He was willing enough (we always had a shortage of people who wanted to perform) and I scurried about picking out my music. My mom asked me, several times, if I was sure I wanted to do it. Later, she told me that she was worried I would fail dramatically.
The concert came, and even without a mic I nailed that rendition of Rockin' around the Christmas tree. People were stunned, and multiple people came up to me after the concert, 'I had NO IDEA you could sing!' From that point forward, I performed whenever I could. Concerts, church...I always wanted to sing the National Anthem, but I was always intimidated by that song (oh, and I just KNEW that I would sing it when certain crushes of mine were in the crowd and I'd fail fantastically.)
I had this idea in my mind that I could be a singer. I could be famous, I could actually DO it for a living. I was encouraged by people telling me how amazing they thought I was. I embarked on creating an internet name for myself. I recorded songs, I had a website, I had a fan club, I had several interviews in various online magazines...it wasn't much, but it made me feel special. It made me feel like I was actually good at something. I won contests. I was...not great, but I was GOOD. I had talent.
My freshman year of college, there was a concert in Spokane. My parents ended up driving me there to it. The night before we took off to the concert (I was already in my dorm room, they were in a hotel) I spent the entire night making a demo cd. I had a free 8-track recorder I'd downloaded and a cheap ass microphone, a guitar, and a lot of excitement. I still have that cd, somewhere. It wasn't good...hell, a lot of it sucked...but I put a lot of heart and soul into it.
At the concert, I was able to make my way to the front of the stage, and the groups manager was out visiting with people. I handed him my demo cd, and I was THRILLED. I'm sure he never listened to it (I later discovered that they're not able to, or allowed to as a general rule) but I was over the moon. I was excited about it all, I was going to make a go of it. Hell, at one point, I was seriously considering Coyote Ugly'ing it and moving to New York City to make my life as a musician.
I auditioned for the campus choir. I knew without a doubt that they would welcome me with open arms, that I would find a home in the music department. They didn't. Sight reading has never been my strong point, without an accompaniment...and I pretty much bombed the audition.
I was discouraged and frustrated. Not long after, I started dating my ex. And while he never discouraged me...he also...made it clear, at points, that he didn't think I had a snowballs chance in hell.
So I gave up. I just quit. I stopped recording, I stopped singing, I stopped playing guitar. And like any tool that goes unused, my voice went away. I'm not a bad singer these days, but I'm no where near as good as I was.
Since then, I have not been able to recapture that excitement. There is nothing that I throw myself into the way I threw myself into that. Oh, there are things that I've been good at and things that I've enjoyed...but there has been a distinct lack of follow through. Look at my writing for example. I enjoy it, very much. Hell, people tell me I'm good at it. I'm still too damn afraid to do much more then think about how awesome it would be if I someday were good enough to say, publish a novel.
I have this fear that someone is going to read my novel - what I've got so far, anyway - and laugh at me. Tell me it's terrible, and tell me I shouldn't even bother. I think part of me wants to keep it to myself...that way I can at least pretend it doesn't totally suck.
At MisCon, there is a writers workshop. It would be enough for me to send about the first 2 chapters of my novel, along with a $15.00 fee. They'll all be published in an anthology. And there is a crew of professional authors who are going to be at MisCon who will be work shopping and critiquing with us. One of them will pick a manuscript to line edit. All in all, it should be a fabulous experience.
And...I am terrified. I am terrified of going in there and talking to the author who gets my piece and being given a look. I'm terrified that this one last thing that I am ok at might be taken away from me. I want so badly to do this, but I am scared. So many hopes and dreams have been dashed before this that I just want to cling to this last one, and hope that it will be my THING.
Everyone has something they are really good at. All their others friends look to them for advice on that one thing. I...don't have a 'thing.' I don't have anything. And part of me feels...empty? Less? Because I don't have anything.
So yeah. That's my dilemma, and something I've been thinking about a lot. Do I tell him yes, I want in on the writers workshop, and risk being totally discouraged...or do I just stay the course? From the outside this is an easy choice. From inside my head, not so much.
