I met one of my writing heroes today, Donald Miller. The interview went nothing like I thought it would. My goal was to ask pointed questions which would draw out pithy content pertinent to potential articles I had in mind.
It ended up, instead, more like a therapy session. I thanked him for writing To Own A Dragon, and told him I’d spent the last three years trying not to write about my experience, from a female perspective. Then told him I'd started a new career as an agent and felt like I'd been "divinely distracted" and relieved of my responsibility to write it. He laughed, then said “HA, you gotta do it anyway!” He has a great laugh. And very nice eyes.
Then I told him I was pissed off at him for stirring up the voice I’d managed to quiet. The one I’ve managed to drown out and bury while heading different directions with other projects.
He suggested I read the War of Art and get on with it.Crap.