Nearing the front of the queue...

Oh, God. Miss Snark is at number 221. I am number 248. So, in the nexy twenty-four hours, I am in the firing line. I'm a little bit excited, but I'm mostly fucking terrified. I haven't used the F-word in my blog before, as far as I can recall, but this seemed the appropriate moment.

What am I going to do if I get reamed? I don't know. I'll be discouraged, but I'll soldier on. I'll take her comments on board and apply them as constructively as I can. I guess the thing is for me, and I imagine a lot of other people jumping off Miss Snark's cliff, is that writing is a secret thing. It's something I keep hidden away from my friends, colleauges and family. To put it out there in front of just about the harshest critic one can imagine is a double edged sword: if Miss Snark approves, then you know you're on to something; if she doesn't, then your writing will slink back into hiding, ashamed of its own reflection.

This is A BIG DEAL.

Whether it should be or not is an entirely different topic. It just is a big deal, rightly or wrongly.

Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.