I was thinking what it would be like if I had to be in the frame. Centre stage. For whatever reason. And I didn’t like the feeling I got, somewhere between a shiver and a cowering, and a blush of shame.
Then I remembered how one of the readers on here mentioned a while back, how I rarely write anything personal. About me. And I came back with a retort, a little defensively if I look back on it, about how I am always writing personal stuff, especially in my fiction. That this blog is an expression of me. But I know what he meant.
I am always a little bit out of the frame, off -camera. Standing behind someone else. Or looking up to them and asking you to do the same.
One of the many things I am scared about in finishing/publishing my novel is I will have to stand in front of it. I saw some quotes that people had written – you know to go on the ‘dust jackets’ (or whatever the ebook equivalent is) of some other writers’ books. The kinds of writers who would write a quote for my dust jacket if I asked. And I suddenly just thought I can’t do that. I don’t even want to ask someone to write something about me to publish for others to see. I want them to tell me in private, in whispered missives, how much they like my book. Or in a comment hidden below a blogpost, an email, a phonecall. Not in the glare of the flashbulbs and the spotlights. Not in broad daylight.
Every so often someone manages to manage my ‘maladjustment’ my malaise. My modesty that is the opposite of false. And somehow to find it not irritating but endearing. And then I am so relieved I just want to live under their cloak forever. Don’t hide your light under a bushel. Well why ever not? I thought that is what bushels were for.
The thing is you see, even the most craven fame-hungry, camera-loving confident people, they still seem pretty vulnerable to me. David Beckham, Katie Price, Mikey Sorrentino. They are no shrinking violets. But are they comfortable? Really? In the camera’s constant glare? They don’t look it. I am just being honest about my discomfort right from the upshot.
So excuse my shyness. I can’t promise I will get over it. I can’t promise anything.
Except these words.