(Photo credit: David Niblack, Imagebase.net. Half-assed creepy filtering by me!)

My stomach knots up. My chest constricts. I’m stuck in a permanent cringe of humiliation, and can’t bear to be in the same room. I  seek distraction from a book or video game, but the horrid, I-could-just-die anxiety doesn’t go away until it’s over.

Am I on deck to give a big speech? Standing trial? No. My spouse is reading part of my manuscript for critique.

It’s ridiculous. The whole point of writing stories is for other people to read the shit you wrote. I’m 100% on board with this concept, until five minutes before someone performs the reading part. Then you have to pry the sample from my white knuckles.

There’s something intimate about fiction. Plot progression and characters take over your brain. In solitude, you refine and question and re-refine every detail until you can’t stand it anymore. You hope you have a winner on your hands, but part of you always fears that maybe, you’re just a no-talent fraud who’s wasted disgusting amounts of time. I’m not the delicate flower who needs everyone to kiss my butt and tell me how great the story is. I want constructive criticism. It’s just that the process of obtaining it feels like someone’s dragged out my lingerie drawer to go rifling through in public.

Granted, I’m a shy and introverted person.  I’ve also grappled with a weird assortment of anxiety issues my entire life. Is this another manifestation of those issues? Is it something that will ever go away?

What about The Daily WTF? you might ask. You’re published there once a month.

It’s not the same. First off, it’s not my story, one I’ve been developing for years. I’m relating a story submitted by a fan. The narrative structure and embellishment I add doesn’t change that. Second, my editor tweaks submissions to his liking before publishing, so I’m used to looking at the final product and seeing some words that aren’t mine. Finally, I know to be wary of audience reaction.  There are thousands who read the site and love it, and thank goodness for them, but you’d never know they existed if you went by the site’s comment section.  Happily, the fans who are active on the Google+ feed are a pleasure to interact with.

One thing’s for certain: sharing my fiction isn’t something I’ve done a lot of yet. It lies outside of my comfort zone, but that’s where all self-improvement comes from.  I hope repeated practice will make it less excruciating someday.

Do you feel this sort of anxiety when sharing your work?  Have any coping mechanisms?  Please comment and let me know!