Losing my Nerve and Feeling Melancholy

So I'm taking a break from being an agony aunt for a while. I get to be the moany one, and you guys get to rub my back and tell me it'll be alright. I have the first three chapters of my novel ready to send off. It's sitting on my desk with my CV and coverletter, waiting to be sent to an agent who's curently accepting new submissions. I've spent countless hours poring over the pages, making both major and minor adjustments. I almost know all 100+ pages by heart, I think it's ready. The other God-knows-how-many-pages are mooching around my hard drive, waiting for that special attention that will make it a completed book. My profs at uni have seen it and think it's great. They gave me a first for it for goodness sake. I've had one agent look at it, and even though it's not even the sort of thing she takes on, she's said that she can definately see it doing well if I send it off to a more relevant agent. Sounds great right? Except I don't feel so great. I'm shit scared. What if I don't get a deal? But worse...what if I do? I've always been a private/shy writer. I hardly ever show any work to anyone, so you can see that there's a massive dichotomy there. How do I become the published writer I want to be, and remain able to keep all my work to myself? That's like eating my cheesecake and having it, right?


Maybe I could use a pen name. You know, make up a name for myself. But then I can't, because that would make mockery of Mummy and Daddy and Grandpa C and Grandma O and all the other literary/artistic/creative people in my family. What would all their hard work mean if I just discredited it by attributing my work, on recognition, to names that bear no relation to theirs? In case you haven't noticed, I hold legacy and family values in very high esteem.


Another problem. If I used a pen name, I'd feel like an incredible fraud. I'd feel like I never really wrote any of it, that I found an old manuscript somewhere written by this other anonymos person with the strange name and tried to pass it off as mine. A pen name wouldn't match up with the name on my phone bill, my bank account, my passport - it wouldn't be congruent with the name I've written carefully on every text book and exercise book throughout my school career. It would have no context and no history. The work wouldn't be something I created so I wouldn't be able to take ownership of it.


So I can't use a pen name, you see. But I still don't want to show my work to anyone. Why the hell can't I have my cake and eat it. I don't like this grown up world where you have to rationalise things and make concessions for your ambitions. I feel like throwing the mother of all tantrums and perhaps I will. Then when I'm done, I'll suck it up, stick on some massive sunshades so that no one will see me, then go and post the damn thing. (This is the part where frustration with myself is directed at the work itself).


On the flipside, I have the book launch all planned - the guest list, the venue, the concept, everything, and I can assure you it's FABULOUS. I even know what I'm going to wear and how the photos of the event look. I have a whole marketing plan for the book mapped out. I know what the competition prizes will be. I've had long, stimulating conversations with the people at the book signings. Told you I'm a weirdo.


Jeez, oh man, I have problems!