Way too much coffee. I think I could drive home without turning on the car. And sharing my novel with someone who’s never read my work before is a bit like drinking a vat of coffee for the way it makes my nerves rattle. Where does rampant insecurity spring anway? Some evil teacher? Judgmental parents? I didn’t have those. Okay, maybe an evil professor. But why do some of us feel this gut splitting, heart rending fear? I’ve face real physical danger before with less terror.

What I need is a big glass of wine. Or whiskey.