stoopbeck

Gah.

So the actual workshopping of my piece of writing didn't go as badly as I had feared. It definitely didn't go as badly as my last workshopping experience. People were receptive... they laughed at the right parts at the very least. They even liked my crappily-made-up-at-the-last-second ending [guess I should have stuck with "and then the world blew up," eh, Sarah?]. They also disliked the things that I disliked upon my second reading of the piece. Strangely enough, they wanted what I was afraid to put in. I had some segments on things that I thought would be disturbing with too much detail [a spider paralyzed and emplanted with wasp larvae and left to die, rattlesnake smell, skewered tadpoles... that sort of thing] and they wanted more. Well then. Ok, guys. Let me just sidle away now, okay? *sidles*

I don't know why I'm left feeling so drained and trembly and ill. I was so nervous I sweated straight through my shirt and pullover before they even got to my piece. About thirty minutes in my muscles were spazzing randomly. There are muscles still firing randomly. My head feels like my skull is contracting. Of course... some of that is that I'm still a little sick [just a wee bit, I swear], but really... why am I this messed up? It wasn't that bad, was it? Was it?

I just want to crawl under the covers and cry. And I don't even know why.