My reading is over. It went...eh, okay. I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. Lots of walking hours before hand burned off the energy it would take to be nervous in front of a room full of anxious listeners. There were six listeners, then eight. It helped me feel better like it was an intimate gathering instead of the throngs of people, clammering, screaming, begging for more from me, an unknown at my very first reading. It would seem nearly everyone is reading a humor-laden story this year and here I am, reading about...something not humorous. The perfect world scenerio running in the back of my head of an editor or two or ten rushing the table and waging a bidding war on the spot for the chance to buy my story did not happen. Silly me. And now, the evening is over. Nothing left but listening to music, avoiding the creepy guys hanging around the computers, and wandering around looking yet trying not to appear to be looking.