We spent the weekend in the north woods of Wisconsin. Naturally, I forgot my camera, so I have no pictures to prove it, but we had a good time and the scenery was breathtaking. We picked berries, roasted marshmallows, went swimming in the cold clear lakes, kayaked and went for runs along the lake side, taking deep breaths of the cool, pine scented air and listening to the long sweet calls of loons. We watched an enormous crescent moon set over the distant pine trees flanking the lake and watched Jay quietly collect flat, smooth rocks as he stood on the edge of the water. It was perfect.
And yet I spent the entire weekend racking my brain for just the right Onion pitch. The nights were especially torturous as I shivered in the tent (it hit thirty-six degrees, when the weatherman predicted seventy). The frigid temperatures made it just hard enough to drift off while my mind worked in overdrive to come up with the best pitches. And after hours of brainstorming, I got nothing. Now that the weekend is over and I am back at my desk, staring at my computer, the urge to write is once again overwhelming. And also terrifying.
Because what if they laugh at my pitches, but like, you know, not in a good way?
And yet, I already know the answer to that question.
Chris will still bring me coffee each morning when he comes in to wake me up, Jay will still give me an enormous hug when I walk in the door each day, Ella will still snuggle in to nurse. My parents will still call to see how things are going, Rosie will still ask to borrow the car. Life goes on.
It’s time to put on my big girl pants and give it a go.
O.k., go.
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