Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
So I slowly rolled over this morning as a wave of vertigo washed over me. Through the fog I did the usual stocktake. The pillow beside me was cold so he was either up and about or more likely had already left for work. Light was seeping in through the curtains so it must be nearly time to wake up. I checked the phone through blurry eyes. Friday. 7am. What does that mean? Resting my heavy head back on the pillow, the nausea rising and the disconnected thoughts scrambling to make sense. I struggled to pull it all together.
Then it dawned on me. The Writing Masterclass. Why, oh why did I do that? There will be people there. People I don’t know. I will have to drive to the city. I have to go someplace I have never been. Where am I going to park? Have I enough money for parking? Will I have to talk to people? Will they judge me? Can I back out? It’s a lot of money wasted if I just pull out for no reason. I am not a writer, that is my sister – not me. All my life that has been her role. How long before they figure out that I am a fraud?
OK, the anxiety had set in. Waking the boychild was easy enough but the breathing was starting to race. Showering was an ordeal as I forgot the simplest routine. Have I washed my hair? I don’t remember. Will they notice that I need a haircut? I should wash it again just in case. I had set out my clothes the night before, having checked the forecast, but stood in front of the wardrobe again for what seemed like ages deciding if the choice was appropriate. I am not fashion conscious. I am an obese clotheshorse. I wear what fits to suit the weather. And yet I changed outfits 3 times before returning to the initial choice.
By now the panic was rising. Breathing fast. Sweating. Tears. I told myself time and time again that this was something that I had wanted to do for such a long time. I had the support and encouragement of those around me. I have been relatively well the last few days, both physically and mentally so this is a good day to do this. This is something for me. Just for me. But, how long before they figure out that I am a fraud?
So, how to defeat the monster? I know all the tricks. I have been here before. I know many people who have also been here before and have shared their own tricks and I know what works for me. First step – With a cup of tea I sat and wrote a list of what I needed to do between getting dressed and actually walking into the room for this Masterclass. In the background, the boychild was getting himself ready without fuss so I knew I only had a few minutes. That was all it took to regain composure and focus. Deep breath, gathered everything together that I may or may not need today and out the door.
Action has always been a good way to push away the anxiety. Being on the road was a good thing. School drop off without issue. On the freeway well ahead of timetable. Traffic lighter than plan. Phone was charged. Travel mug full. It was time to breathe and give myself a chance to actually get excited about the day ahead. I had heard so much about this woman. I had followed her for a while. Traffic has never really bothered me if time is on my side, so it gave me a chance to think about what I wanted to get out of the day. But, as the roads started to clog and the radio announcer started to get belligerent with his guest, so too did my thoughts turn to the “what ifs”. Starting with “what if I am late?” Having always been the “good girl”. I am never late for anything within my power and as anxiety builds in my life this concept rules my actions more. How rude to be late when this woman is offering such an amazing opportunity. The fact that we are paying her is irrelevant. “What if my booking didn’t go through properly and there is no room in the group for me? I’ll have to go home” The humiliation. “what if I have a dizzy turn in there?” I dunno. “What if my batteries run out and I run out of energy and I have to go home early?” Two-fold: it’s rude to leave early and what a waste of money to only get half the session. The other thing is if my batteries run out and I stay I will have no energy left to drive even to Pete’s work so I will be fucked. “What if the group is made up of real writers?” They will soon figure out I am a fraud.
I made it. On time. My palms were sweating. The droplets running down between my breasts, under my arms, around my hairline. It may as well be 35 degrees out there. I struggled to breathe evenly while introducing myself to the women I met as we made our way into the café. No tears, I told myself. Not now. They won’t bite. Everyone seemed relaxed and friendly as we casually climbed the stairs to the room above the restaurant. And then I fucked up. It couldn’t have happened at a more predictable, inconvenient time. The floor started moving, my head spinning, eyes blurring, I couldn’t breathe. So dizzy I had to sit down and wait for it to pass. Talk about making an entrance. Why couldn’t I just be a wallflower?
As the day progressed, the nerves receded. Hearing the stories of others was fascinating. Each and every person had a genuine tale to tell. And the way the group was run and managed meant that Catherine was able to draw out the real reason for each person being there, sometimes pushing for more or something different. Putting pen to paper became natural for each writing task she set. The challenges seemed like something I would like to incorporate into my days. But, in my heart, throughout the day I was waiting for someone to figure out that I am a fraud.
Lunch came and went. My energy levels sapped. Cognitive functioning waned. Ability to string 2 words together became more than a chore. I knew that I should probably leave if I wanted to make the drive home clearly, but felt compelled to stay. Not from obligation to anyone else, but because I wanted the chance to draw every last bit of advice, any pearls of wisdom from the mouth of this woman who had stood before us all day. She had entertained, educated, enquired and admired. I knew that there was plenty more on offer but only a couple of hours left and I was drawn to absorb all that I could.
4pm. Time to finish. Wrapped up final exercises, tips, words of advice, merchandise, marketing and contact details. I knew then that I had what it takes to write the stuff that I want. I know who for. I know format. I know title. I know how I am going to fit it into my day. I know it will start with the Gunna Challenge. I know that I don’t care how accomplished the other members of the group are.
I know that I am not a fraud.
27 November 2015