Kristen Taber
My Worst Writing Fear:
On Being a Shy Writer
When I was in high school, we were tasked with writing a
horror story and delivering the lines in front of the class. Intended as a
creative assignment mixed with a public speaking assessment, it held a far
greater test for me. I hate standing in front of people. I hate blossoming from
a wall flower into a spotlight rose, unfurling my pedals for everyone to see
and analyze. I hate being dissected like a carcass in biology class.
But I stood in front of my fellow students, stared from face
to face, meeting the eyes of my peers and spoke. I concocted a story about a
ghost who wandered the halls of my prestigious high school, murdering teachers
in vengeance for their cruelties. Not an eye moved from my face. Not a sound
escaped from a single mouth.
And my pants fell down.
Or at least, that’s what it felt like. I stood there in
front of everyone who mattered to me—or seemed like they mattered, even if they
truly didn’t—as naked as I had been when I stepped out of the shower that
morning. They loved the story. Students who had spoken all of three words to me
all year told me I should write my story down and try to publish it. And all I
could think about was trying to keep my lunch from spilling from my mouth onto
the floor in front of them.
I am the true definition of shy. I’m the girl who crosses
the street to avoid people she knows. I’m the kid who stutters when she stands
in front of a crowd of three. I’m the quick-witted responder who thinks of the
right words hours after a confrontation. I’m a recluse.
So naturally, I write.
It seems like such a contradiction. In my shyness, I find
friendship in characters and homes in worlds that would not exist if I had been
born an extrovert. I publish because I feel the need to share these friends
with others. Yet I am terrified of standing in front of the critics as I wait
for their reactions to my inventions.
As I wait for my pants to fall down.
It will happen, of course. Reviews reflect people’s
preferences, and no two preferences are alike. For those who love Meaghan and
Nick, the main characters from my Ærenden series, there will be those who
despise them and wonder why I did not create them more assertive or funny or
romantic. For those who rave about not being able to put the series down,
others will claim they had to fight yawns through every chapter.
I do what I can to make the books perfect. I hire multiple
editors and spend sleepless nights fine-tuning sentences until I can no longer
see the words within the story (or the trees within the forest). I gather beta
opinions and reviewers’ advice. I add sub-plots and delete scenes. I polish
until my fingers are raw and my eraser is bleeding. I breathe life until I live
beside the characters I’ve invented. Then I step beyond my fears and release my
stories unto the world, holding my breath and hoping.
All while knowing I’ve just unlatched my belt.
My worst writing fear is my nakedness. It’s being myself in
front of the world and hoping who I am is enough.
It’s simply being a writer.
~~#~~
Kristen Taber Bio
Kristen
spent her childhood at the feet of an Irish storytelling grandfather, learning
to blend fact with fiction and imagination with reality. She lived within the
realm of the tales that captivated her, breathing life into characters and
crafting stories even before she could read. Those stories have since turned
into over a hundred poems, several short tales, and five manuscripts in both
the Young Adult and Adult genres. Currently, Kristen is completing the
five-part Ærenden series from her home office in the suburbs of Washington D.C.
Now the Excerpt from
The Gildonae Alliance
Less
than a quarter of a mile from their destination, the air took on the distinct
smell of smoke. Although it started out faint, within a matter of minutes,
Meaghan could see a heavy black cloud rolling toward them, chased by an
unmistakable orange glow.
“Fire,”
she started to warn Nick, but choked on the word before she could complete it.
Nick glanced toward the advancing fury, grabbed her hand and pulled her along
behind him, hastening their pace toward the cave.
It
all seemed too familiar, like she had returned to the fire Cal had set in the
field. But this time, though the sense of déjà vu made it seem surreal, she
realized Cal’s power did not control it. They had no protection from the
flames.
Her
eyes stung. Her nose burned. She pulled the neck of her sweater over her mouth
and breathed through it. It helped, but it would not keep her alive for long.
They would only be safe when they reached the cave. Even if Cal had not yet
arrived, they could teleport somewhere else. She did not care where, so long as
they escaped the inferno chasing them.
She
moved faster, watching Nick’s feet as the smoke grew thick, clouding her eyes.
She recognized a boulder with a red vein running through it, and a stump shaped
like a chair. They crossed the frozen stream, now trickling with new melt. A
hundred yards remained. She could almost taste the clean air that would greet
them when they found their way to the deeper caverns. The need drove her, and
then something tugged at her awareness and she froze mid-stride.
And sometimes they jump right out into the open, especially in R. S. Belcher's fantasy worlds. Nightwise is a lovely, lovely fantasy, though very dark. Just right for Halloween.
