Standing in the doorway of the writers workshop, my heart raced like it was the first day of high school in a brand-new town. Sweaty palms. Not sure where to sit. Butterflies in my stomach. Smiling at everyone, but only familiar with one person, who is a family member and dear friend of mine. Eyes darting around the unfamiliar room, trying to get my bearings. Doubts racing through my head at an alarming speed. Did I mention the sweaty palms?
I had never attended a writers conference before, despite my intense love for writing. True, I’d taught language arts and writing to intermediate and middle school students for 16 years. I’d worked on short stories and dabbled in the world of blogging. But was that enough? How could I possibly measure up against the people seated around me who had been writing professionally for years?
Having returned from a cruise with…
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