I'm starting to believe that everything common knowledge has taught us about losing weight, and maintaining a healthy body weight, might be wrong.
You see there's something inherently childish about judging others by our own standards. Most children take people at face value. Most children don't have a laundry list of nefarious plots. This is why we worry about kids being wisked off the playground by grinning strangers with promises of free candy and a pool full of puppies to play with.
I lost because I allowed that person what they wanted out of that interaction: dominance--to cut me down back where they thought I belonged. To hear me give a verbal acknowledgement that I'm not as important as I think I am.
We talked about options for getting it into an editor's hands: finding an agent, submitting to a publisher that took unsolicited manuscripts, or maybe even meeting an editor at a con and showing them their work. This person definitely was interested in getting an editor's eyes on their work and seeing if they could sell it. However (and this was a big HOWEVER), they were apprehensive. They liked the idea of being paid money for it, seeing it in print and all the jazz that comes along with that sort of thing, it was just that they weren't "a real writer", and feared how they would be perceived by an editor.
I view people putting their bullying opinions out there like a flasher in the park. They run up, show you stuff that is none of your business to be seeing, for the purpose of making you feel uncomfortable. So, in my opinion, overt your eyes. Don't be a voyeur to internet exhibitionism. They are trying to violate your boundaries.
When the elephant sees its rope, it bows to its power--to the point that even a small child could lead the behemoth around a ring, daintily, by the thin cord.
Those of us creatives should be able to sympathize, so innately, with anyone dealing with a loud mouth, self-depraving internal dialogue. Us, as writers, who are so obsessed with spinning dramatic and justifying narratives on paper, can often times paint the bleakest internal narratives for ourselves--for our own personal stories.
The thought was very simple—more of a nagging question than anything else: who’s the other guy in this quote? You know, the dude you shouldn’t stare in the eyes of. The guy who has such an insanely dominating presence that you should fear to linger too long on his baby-blues. Who is this man that can throw you off balance with just a gaze? Who is this man who can draw you in, entrap you, and splinter your concentration by just being? Who’s that guy?