I placed my head on my knees and curled up in the desk chair, facing my enemies. The computer. The piece of writing that I had just submitted to the world--for criticism. I let out a low, despairing moan.
Anyone could read this, anyone could see what I'd written and comment, criticize, laugh at it. Oh, what had I done? It was much safer in my little notebook, where I allowed no one to read anything I'd written. So much safer when I was alone in my own little world of stories and imagined realms. Why hadn't I stayed there, where I could find solitary refuge? Why hadn't anyone warned me about the perils of publishing?
It was out there now. No turning back. Oh, shoot.
