winged words

Today was too, too much stress, over a bunch of words that weren't inspired by God or anything, just my own reputation and wanting to cover my butt, things like that, just making it through. I wrote an article in a computer program I'd never used before, sent it to my section editor, and reviewed it with one of them, preparing it to greet the world tomorrow morning. It has several more rungs to cross before it's final, my child born from exactly an hour and a half of actual writing. The rest was waiting, waiting all day for a source to write me back. Nothing happened, and I'm exhausted.

I feel like no one's ever read my writing before. It has pictures with it - they sent a photographer to take pictures of it, for goodness' sake. It's [gasp] going to be on the front page.

I don't want it and I do. I want it so badly; I want to rip one off the newsstands and go flying down the street with it. But then I don't want it, I don't want undue attention, though relatively so few will know my name. I want them to read my story, but after only an hour and a half, I have no idea how many people will actually make it past the first paragraph.