Thursday, April 24, 2008

I feel professional, oh so professional and witty and bright.

Well, maybe not so witty, since I'm stealing lines from West Side Story.

Bright remains to be seen, as well.

The 68th Annual conference of the American Medical Writers Association is looking more firm in my future.

Since my company works closely on training within the medical and pharmaceutical industries, they're thinking it's a good idea for at least one person to have some firm knowledge on the nuances going on in the field of medical writing.

And I got tapped to be that person.

If not my heart, it, at least, sets my stomach all aflutter.

The conference isn't until October and already I'm picturing myself getting lost in the throng. Or being unable to find the hotel and having to live out of my car and a public washroom for three days. Or suddenly losing my ability to understand written and spoken English.

You know. Just your average normal neurotic worries.

I'll get over it.

Or, at the least, I'll get through the conference and then take a vacation day the following Monday to have the nervous breakdown that I had to put off for the length of the conference.

One of the reasons that I am a because it's easier than talking to people.

I was an incredibly shy child. That child turned into a moderately introverted teenager (who had her moments of explosive extroversion.) And into a rather (publicly, at least) taciturn adult.

I talk. I'll speak in front of groups. I have absolutely no issue discussing my ideas and opinions in a meeting or sharing critiques, ideas, and bullshit in my writers' group. I can get up at an Open Mic night and read my writing. I've even been on stage before. (And I didn't faint.) Shock and awe that.

But that's not to say that I necessarily enjoy doing all of those things, but with most of them there is a certain intimacy among peers and there's usually a friend or a colleague to make eye contact with.

When I'm on my own and in a world full of strangers, things get a little bit more taxing.

Add into this the driving time (about 2 to 3 hours, depending on traffic and weather conditions). The registration. The fees. The packing. The traffic. The socializing. The learning. And you've got a recipe for one frazzled girl.

But, really. I should have some dignity and not have my first semi-anxiety-meltdown until, at least, around the first of September. (I'll try to make it to Mid-August.)


Sunday, April 13, 2008

Where have all our yesterdays gone?

I blinked sometime between the 1st and 2nd of January and here we are in April. Time really does fly when you get older. Pre-18 the years seemed to drag. Some days I'd do a lot to get that time back.

Recently I celebrated the quarter of a century mark and I've spent my first week at 25 with some odd stiff neck injuries which have not yet gone away. I've got a few more days before the 7 day mark and things seem to have improved from this last Wednesday, but I'm hesitant to make any affirmative statements on that topic for fear of jinxing myself. (Superstitious? Just a bit.) I have white-coat fever like no one's business; if I can avoid a trip to the doctor, I do.

In other news, I have recently returned to an avenue of my childhood that I never got to experience fully.

I've started watching Transformers.

I blame this one on the Boy. True, I nurture the actual fascination/"obsession" well enough on my own, but the re-introduction was his fault.

Now that I've seen the live action movie, I'm going back and combing the Internet (Youtube is my antidrug) for the G1 series. I will follow the others as time permits. Except, perhaps, for the new Animated series. I'm not big on most of the art. What the hell is with those giant chins?

I like my Mechs old-school, boxy and metallic looking. (Exceptions granted for the metallic litheness of the Mechs in the live action movie, even down to the spikes-of-doom appearance of the Decepticons. They were really quite beautiful. And I think I have a crush on the Saleen Mustang. I'm neither gear-head nor autophile...but that is a sexy car.)

In artistic news, I've joined up with my writers group again--after a year long hiatus, which probably did me good seeing as I was neither writing nor sharing much of anything during my last jaunt--and I'm set up to receive feedback on the first short story I've completed in about 5 or so years.

One of our discussions was on Web presence. Do we have Web sites, blogs? Do we think they're necessary?

Not necessary, per se. But as I told one of our members, it's not a bad idea to build a Web presence. Particularly if you get into little writing projects on the Web (like the Six Sentences project). You get your name out there, people come across your stuff and maybe, on down the road a piece, they'll remember you when they spot your name in a magazine, or between the pages of an anthology, or better yet on the cover of a book.

I've said enough for one dreary Sunday afternoon. I'm off to indulge in my latest fascination, continue nursing my poor neck muscles--decrepit already at 25; maybe next time I'll listen to Rhonda when she says "See? Not a damn thing to look forward to"--and do some more reading.

On the currently reading list, I have:

Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer

Rebel Angels by Libba Bray

The Darkest Part of the Woods by Ramsey Campbell

And I have at least three Borroweds sitting on my shelf that I should attempt to read before their owner files a Missing Book report (though I think one of them she's actually gifted to me).


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