Reading on Thursday (coffeehouse) went fine. I rather surprised myself at not caring what sort of reception I got, read my piece, enjoyed that, sat back down. Not the most romance-friendly of venues, but it honestly didn't matter. I know why I'm writing this story, I love what I do, and I know where it comes from, and that's enough. Very nice, that. Now if I can only figure out how to put tush in chair and fingers to keyboard on a more regular basis. Trying, honestly, to get back to the days when I could pound out ten to twenty pages per day (shooting for ten, will see from there) -- but of course that was a while ago, and I "know" too much more about writing than I did then, so that may be slowing down the process. I don't know.
What I do know is that I am very excited about the new offshoot two friends and I are starting, of a group we've been in for years. This old group has gone on an inadvertent hiatus, but the three of us got to talking at the reading, and there are a few things we wanted to do differently, so we're giving it a try this summer. First meeting is on Wednesday, and we've invited two others to join us, though I don't know if they'll make it. Even if not, I respect, like and admire the other two gals (of us three) and would feel very comfortable letting them in on the process.
The three of us all have manuscripts in the partial stage that we would like to get to the full stage, submit and sell. This new group feels right already.