There is a whole list of things that horrify me, not just in my current incarnation as a writer but all the way back to my life in the last millennium. I promise to keep this brief!
I shall start with learning to write. Some complain that we are slipping into barbarity because cursive is not taught now. These are people who never had to learn cursive with a pen that sported a sharp nib which you dipped into an inkwell, then tried not to catch in the paper so ink flew all over the paper, desk, and student. Sorry, but I am singing “Hallelujah” at the very idea of abandoning cursive. And if anyone has seen my handwriting, they might agree there has got to be a better method. It is called a laptop…
Speak in public? See this 70 year old run like a rabbit and hide! I decided to give up an academic career because of rampant stage fright. Panels are great. Informal chats are lovely. But please, if you have any mercy, never ask me to give a speech.
Flying anywhere? May we please change the subject? My heart is pounding like a jackhammer.
OK, so how about promotional things? Tweet? No, I am terminally boring even with only 140 characters. Pinterest? Is that interest in pins or fondness for pints of something, preferably alcoholic if the speaking in public is mentioned? Facebook? OK, my initial reaction was “you want me to do what?” I post very little (see remark on tweeting).
So the list could go on about things I hope no one will ask me to do, but let’s end this positively. There are a couple of things I enjoy doing. I love to read. I love to write novels. There always things that terrify us or we hatehatehate doing. Most can be worked around. Those that can’t might be worth jabbing a toe at to see how it actually feels. I have learned to really enjoy Facebook, and I love blogging with the LadyKillers, but there is no way you will get me on an airplane or hear me agree to a speech.