Images of Edinburgh

Today I completed the confronting task of discussing my poetry in my one-to-one tutorial time. It was confronting not because of whom I had to talk, but because I had to talk about it at all. But, like so many things that scare us and are difficult, such as going to the dentist or learning to ride a bike, it was all worth it in the end (okay, you're right, going to the dentist is never worth it).

Beforehand I had an image of my tutor throwing my pages across the table at me and exclaiming that it was all rubbish and what did I think I was doing. Or in an alternative but equally daunting scenario sitting politely and nodding with a stiff smile plastered on her face as I desperately tried to say something intellegent and make her like me (which is what it's all about, of course, it's what everything is about).

There were many other nightmares playing out in my mind (which I won't bore you with just yet) but most of them ended with me curled into a ball sobbing quietly and retaining a persistent phobia of writing, reading and even of pens - those orchestrators of my downfall!

Of course, nothing like it eventuated and I had a lovely, productive discussion with my wonderfully supportive tutor who didn't once throw anything or nod politley.

I have two more tutorials before the end of the course, so she still has time...