Most of you will know that I wrote a book. I’ve been yammering on about it via socials for months now, and it’s one of the reasons why I’ve neglected this substack. For some reason, part of me believes I only have a finite amount of writing in me so I have to use it wisely. But that’s a post for a different time.
The book is doing okay. I mean, it’s doing okay enough that I’ve been invited to be part of an erotica event where 5 writers will read excerpts of their own work.
The other writers are incredibly talented. They write essays and have published poetry books and zines. They’re journalists and award-winners. They’re PhDs and academics.
And I’m just me.
Little, pathetic Aud Pitch.
I’m terrified.
Since I got the news, I’ve been freaking the fuck out. I should be jumping for joy, feeling stoked to know people around me believe in my ability to spin a sexy story.
Instead, I’ve been second-guessing myself, telling myself I’m not good enough to stand behind a microphone and share a piece…