What a day, and it's only beginning. I wasn't prepared for the emotion, welling up early as I caught myself in tears even as events were just ramping up. I'll keep the Kleenex handy, right here by the laptop.
You can also catch me crying at the Alaska Flag Song. Corny, I know. And not very writerly. Aren't we supposed to be the quintessential loners, locked away in our turrets or basements or wherever we write? But it matters to be part of something bigger, something that for all its faults offers a measure of hope. In happy coincidence we celebrate our state becoming part of America as we celebrate America becoming more of what we were meant to be.
Hope springs eternal for writers, in a measure at least. We walk a tightrope between self-efficacy - the belief that we can accomplish what we set out to do - and overconfidence, nicely summed up in agent Nathan Bransford's post on The Perils of Overconfidence, in which he notes a harsh truth: "the people who are most unwilling to heed sound constructive criticism and the ones who most need to heed said constructive criticism are the ones who are most convinced of their own genius."
We have good company in a new President who strikes a balance between humility and confidence. A writer himself, he understands what it means to have - and to give - a measure of hope.