Thing is about not “winning” the pitch competition is that it gave me this fantastic opportunity to feel the love of the people all around me friends and strangers too. Seriously, what do I need with a bunch of free software I already own and free books I already own and passes to film festivals I’m already going to, not to mention bragging rights which all in all may be 20K in prizes but isn’t a patch on the billion dollars of love and friendship and hope and faith I received from you all.
There is a lesson too in that Smart Pig, who did win (sorry doll, just trying out a new nickname for you! It might not stick) HATES pitching with the fury of a thousand suns, while I, who actually kinda enjoy it, didn’t even place. That is something to think over for sure.
Apologies I am still so tired that the words keep slipping thru my fingers, and an amazing dinner and glass of cabernet –god do they make good wine in this state – has caused the powerful made-of-woven-titanium-and-magic-fairy-dust word net that I usually am able to cast forth to be made instead with some used dental floss and tangled computer cords. See, I just had to sound out the word com-pu-ter in order to type it.
Just can’t go to bed though with out sending out big teary inappropriately crushing hugs to all of you who seem to have tapped into an endless spring of being kind and passionately supportive of me and my dreams. I hope that when they come true that you can all share the joy with me as powerfully as you’ve shared the challenges.
Smart Pig compares us writers to flying fish. Fish who somehow think they should be birds, but at some point after soaring thru the air too long, we must dive again, alone into the deep cold hidden deeps and be what we are and do what we do, until the next fit of “I can be a bird!” hits us and we leap forth to join you all in the skies for a bit. It is a fun time though, isn’t it? We are all wet and salty and sparkle like jewels in the sun, and we sing to you for a little while before the light and the attention and the demands and the heat all become too too, too much and we must fall again, fold our wings and immerse ourselves in the cool deep wet dark to mend.
Special hearts to Delicous, Pixie and the Empress for their endless toil to make the event such a success for so many. And to all the kind strangers who overcame their writerly reserve to introduce themselves and tell me how wonderfully they thought I did and how amazing my story is. And the Welsh Maid showing up to plunk 35$ down just to watch the back of my head for 20 minutes, that is love. Most of all to the Producer who survived a late night champagne drunken butt-dialed cell phone call, not to mention his unflagging use of the word “brilliant” with connection to myself. As for the Princess and the Cossack? I truly think they were more disappointed for me than I was for myself. So I ordered a bottle of champagne. It seemed to cheer them up a bit. I certainly felt the bubbles were called for because it was a day and a night when, from near and far I felt truly, deeply and incandescently loved and valued. It was a great day.
:)
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