I have spent some time trying to organize a critique group for local writers. I have gone to writer’s groups, canvassed people I meet, taken emails and phone numbers, attended the NCW conference, reserved a room, sent a group email invite, corresponded re questions about the group, made an agenda, sent a reminder email … and now I have to go down there and convene the group.
I’m scared. There’s no other way to describe it.
Even though I’ve done what needs to be done. Even though I’ve been to dozens, maybe hundreds of similar critique groups in the past. Even though I’ve got a plan of what to do, the papers are already printed, put on the clipboard, ready to go …
Who am I to start a critique group? As I realize that I am just this side of having a panic attack, I wonder if this is why so many worthwhile things don’t get done: they’re just too scary, and yet, why? What’s so scary about it?
- what if no one shows up
- what if people show up and they’re bored
- what if I do something really stupid and everyone notices.
Well … yes, all those things. But look, I’ve got this desperate need for a critique group. And I think some other writers around here do too. So I’ve got to step out in faith, in hope, and I guess to be cliched, in charity, too, because it’s not just for my benefit, it’s for all those who attend.
Crossing my fingers, getting ready to take my briefcase-purse and go out the door … got my “cool grandma” clothes on. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I’ll update soon on how it went.