*Ribbit Crrrrooak*

Yes, I am losing my voice. Reading out loud for two days will do that to you. I've read 204 pages out loud in the last few days, and it's really trying. I've been subsisting on toast and hot tea, hoping I can make it another 122 pages without going completely croaky.

I've still got to chaperone a field trip on Thursday, and nothing is worse than trying to keep a dozen kids together while on the loose in downtown DC if you don't have a voice to yell at them. Maybe I could bring an air horn along. There must be an app for that. (Time passes while I check into it...) Yes, there are DOZENS of air horn apps. That's a relief. I'll just blast any wayward kids if I can't yell.

Also, I can't believe the strange things I've found to fix just by hearing my own words out loud. I think the sense of sight and the sense of hearing (or even the part of our brains that controls speech) process things in different ways. I haven't necessarily found mistakes, per se, but things that could have been written more clearly, or more concisely, or more precisely. I'm never going to let a manuscript out of my hands again until it's been through the read-out-loud test. Best advice I ever got.

I'm glad I finally got over my reticence to hear my own words in my own voice. It was embarrassing at first, because other people could periodically hear me reading it out loud (Helper Monkey and Lulu both have spent time in the room while I've been reading), and because somehow hearing my words out loud somehow made them more real.

I'm not a shy person. I'm not afraid to say what's on my mind, usually. But this is just weird.

I've cringed at the thought of other people reading my novels. I've cringed at the thought that those people will then want to talk to me about them. For some reason, despite not being afraid of saying most anything that comes into my head, letting other people in to meet my imaginary friends scares the crap out of me. I've poured myself into my writing. Knowing other people are reading it is nearly as bad as walking around naked and asking people to comment on my little show. Scary!

But it's what I wanted when I started writing. We'll see if I ever get over that weird feeling.

Also, I finally made a real commitment to writing as a career choice. I ordered business cards. I was going to post a picture of my card here, but then I realized it had my home address, phone numbers, and email address on them. I don't think a random public blog is the right venue for all that information. I took the photo and blurred out the details I don't feel like sharing with the known universe.

How official!

Time to take out the trash. The literal trash. Gotta go, or I'll feel like a lazy bum for not helping.