The secret life of an American Jackie

I don't get embarrassed easily. In my four years of pageanting, judges would often ask, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" and I'd have to really struggle to come up with something.

There was that one time the clown at Lagoon proposed to me, and then clung to my leg and howled when I told him I was too young to get married.

"NOOOOOOOO! JACKIE, DON'T LEAVE ME!!!"

But that was more flattering than embarrassing, really.

Or there was that time when I somehow got a plastic bag stuck to my ballet slipper right before going onstage in "The Nutcracker." Having the bag stuck to my foot wasn't as embarrassing as having my ballet teacher ask me afterward if it was toilet paper, though, if I'm honest.

See, my philosophy is this: Embarrassing things happen, and then you move on.

But, in case you were wondering, there is one thing that can make me blush and — to use a young adult fiction phrase — writhe in embarrassment.

(Well, as two boys from high school may recall, if you grab me in a giant bear hug and then and jump up and down while singing happy birthday, I will also blush, but that's a bit of a tangent...)

No, the one way to actually embarrass me is to talk about my writing.

As you may be able to guess (from the size of these posts, for example) I like writing. I like it a lot. My mom once told me that I started out life writing. If my parents made me angry, I wrote them a note. If my brothers ticked me off, I wrote them a note. If I then felt guilty about being ticked off, I wrote yet another note. The written word has always been my friend; during my last finals week in college I wrote 26 essay pages in two class periods...and it was fantastic.

The thing is — my coworker and I were talking about this the other day (he gets his kicks out of analyzing my twisted mind) — I don't mind letting people read what I write EXCEPT when it comes to creative fiction.

To be honest, it doesn't make any sense. I always wanted to be an author. The highlight of fourth grade was when my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Drake, told me she thought I had the talent to get published. One summer I wrote a piece about my hometown for the local newspaper and won tickets to Lagoon. I vaguely remember winning a short story contest in my town's summer festival, too. (Of course, that's something of a miracle, considering I can't write ANYTHING short nowadays. You should see me try to text...or use Twitter...ugh.)

Along that line, the best memory of my seventh grade year was winning the "On-Site Writing Competition" that was part of a region-wide arts competition between schools. They ushered us into a room, gave us three pictures to look at (a blackboard with writing on it, a covered bridge, and I think a spider) and told us to write a story. I remember being intimidated by the whole process. I was surrounded by eighth graders who were constantly praised for their writing, I was going through my awkward "gee, I don't think I'm pretty so I'll dress like a boy" phase, and my best friend (who I always competed with, especially in terms of writing) was sitting right next to me.

During the awards ceremony for the arts competition, to my utter, total, and complete surprise, my name was called as the 1st place winner and I got to stand up in front of the entire school to claim my prize. That was brilliant. I'm still proud of that, ten-odd years later.

Writing-wise, everything changed during my sophomore year of high school. After registering, I soon discovered that my "creative writing class" was actually a newspaper writing class. Even though I didn't want to take a newspaper class — at the time I was still too shy to talk, make phone calls, or converse with adults — I've never been the type of person to give up. My teacher probably made some comment about how hard the class would be, and all I need to get fired up and angry is that exact sort of a challenge. Before long I learned how to be a newspaper reporter. After two years as editor-in-chief, I decided to pursue journalism in college as well.

So what does this all have to do with embarrassment? Well, I'll tell you: I've written a book. Wait, scratch that. I've written three. Er, scratch that, too. I've finished three and I've got three more in the working stages... The problem is, only a few people have seen them, and unless I suddenly become significantly less embarrassed, it may stay that way forever.

See, when it comes to journalism, I don't mind if people read what I write. Here are some examples: here, here, here, here, here, or here. (That last one was particularly brilliant, because KSL stole my information and did a broadcast news segment on it the next day, leave me torn between annoyance and pure pride.) And obviously I don't care if people read what I blog. (But since nobody reads this anyway, I'm safe there. Whew.)

BUT when it comes to my creative writing...the thought of people reading that is embarrassing with a capital E. Of course, I've let a few people read my books, but each time I include a list of apologies. This is part of the actual email I sent my best friends along with a copy of my first book:

"Basically, the story is a retelling of the Cinderella story (as if there aren't enough of those in the world). It's mushy, and predictable, and kitschy (which means "content created to appeal to popular or undiscriminating taste." Poetic.) In other words, the "real authors" in my BYU creative writing class would hate it. I thought it was charming when I was writing it, but reading over it so many times has convinced me that it's mainstream mediocre fiction. But don't let that cloud your judgment...bwa-ha-ha-ha...

If you have time to read it someday, I would be really happy, even though I'm going against my better judgment by sending it to you in the first place. (Nobody reads my work - I like it better that way.) Let me know how you feel about it, and what I could maybe do to fix it...and all that..."

That's not even false modesty. That's really how I feel. After many days of soul-searching I've decided that I don't particularly like to talk about my writing mainly because EVERYONE thinks they're a writer, and I fear (deep down) that I'm just another face in the crowd. (Or would it be "pen on the page"? "Manuscript in the mail"? "Author in the bread line"? Hmm.)

Someday, though, I'll get over it. At least, I intend to get over it. Really. I'm serious...Yeah. 

I have to get over it for three main reasons.

One: I crave praise. Who doesn't? It's a human characteristic, and I'll admit that I'm infected. If Stephanie Meyer can get published (c'mon, folks..."Twilight"? Really?!) surely I can as well.

Two: Shan, I turn green when I remember that you're going to be a published author, and although green is one of my better colors (heh) it's not a color I enjoy being on a regular basis.

And three: My poor characters are rotting away with no one to appreciate them. I've got enough material in my head to write...how many books? Quick count...

1. Brianda. Royal. Jeremy.

2. Richard Jones and Cassie. Oh, and Owen!

3. Channer, Brian, Richens, and about 20 students who need renamed...what a chore.

4. Triad!

5. And the sequel to that...

6. London. David. C & S. Bugs!

7. Taylor and Jace. And Dutch, the coolest character ever.

8. Wait, going back with Kiff and company, too.

9. And their sequel as well.

See? It's getting outrageous.

Until I get brave enough to let lots of people read my creative stuff, though, I'll have to continue letting people read my books one individual at a time.

And then when other people ask me to tell them what my books are about, I'll hem and haw, and then change the subject... 

And then I'll crack jokes to distract them the next time it comes up... 

And then I'll invent flimsy excuses about how "it needs editing still" when they ask to read it... 

And then when Shan's mom starts gushing about my book in front of lots of people, I'll continue blushing and "writhing in embarrassment" while I secretly eat up every bit of praise she hands me.

And then in the end, I'll still wish for more.

Ah, the confused existence of an embarrassed writer.