Sometimes irony is just plain frustrating.
You see, whenever my mother tells someone that I write, she nearly always adds that I'm too shy to let anyone see my work.
I then reply it's not ready. I'd b willing to show off a polished manuscript, but I've yet to get there.
However, I have semi-polished several chapters of The Restored. I need my mother's input, as the library critique group is not meeting as the library caved in last year. So I asked her to read a few chapters. When she didn't have time for that, I tired discussing some issues I was having with her, but she wasn't listening to me.
Frankly, I'm frustrated and concerned. I mean, how much do they really believe in me? They think I'm too shy to have life, I guess. I know I can write stories. But just because I'm not sending out my rough-hewn, unfinished manuscripts to be deleted by every agent and editor in the hemisphere doesn't mean I don't want to be published!