Not Smart Enough, Okay With It

One of my favorite things about writing is making friends because of it.

I never felt quite right in higher-level English Lit. People were so brilliant. I didn’t know to laugh at their jokes and I dreaded getting into conversations with them. Peer review made me want to run like my arse was on fire to the nearest ESOL class. Everyone intimidated me.

But I love those people now. Now that I’m older and not afraid to sound like a doofus.

Spooky Empire’s Screamfest (look it up—it’s not Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights) was this past weekend. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love its attendees. Fully dedicated, head-to-toe costumed horror lovers, there simply to pay respect to its family and seek out new talent.

My fellow exhibitors were simply wonderful. There were a few prima-donnas (the caricaturist with an encyclopedia of dirty looks for anyone disturbing his creative space, the comic-hound insanely protective of his display), but mostly they were the cat’s pajamas.

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