dragonlady7

I have to blog this but I cannot analyze quite what I should think of this. Worry, shame, pride?

It's nearly 2 am. I just finished a lengthy and pivotal scene for the Novel. I decided to post it (to a new community I've joined, started by a friend of a friend, for struggling original fiction writers, most of whom are fanfiction refugees). So I proofread it.
It is mostly a dialogue scene.
I must confess, while I am confessing (isn't that what blogs are for?) that I often read dialogue scenes aloud to myself, even acting them out, to determine whether the words flow. This would probably be extremely amusing for the neighbors, except they have central air and keep their windows shut, so they don't hear me when I get to the smut scenes and keep on readin'. (What, am I supposed to ignore that dialogue?)

Now. It's the middle of the night. I am considerate enough of my dear sweet Dave that I listen to music with headphones if I'm awake and he's asleep (even when he's taking naps, usually).
So. I was reading the dialogue scene silently to myself, grooving to some Curfman I wasn't paying much attention to. (Not quiet music. Good headphones seal my ears into that sound.)

I heard a sound, through a short break in the music. As frightened as anyone awake and totally distracted in a dark house in the middle of the night who thought she was alone and has cause to suddenly think otherwise, I tore the headphones off and spun around, in a panic.

"Are you all right?" Dave asked groggily, standing in my doorway looking dishevelled and exceedingly sleepy (a look he has perfected so beautifully he should patent it).

"Huh?" I asked, clutching the headphones to my chest and collecting myself. (When I'm that into what I'm doing, it sometimes takes me a little bit to return to reality. When in that state I usually answer the phone "What!" despite my usually-flawless telephone etiquette, and then wonder why the person on the other end is acting so weird.)

"Is everything all right?" Dave persisted. "I heard you in the next room."

"Heard me what," I said blankly.

"Talking to yourself," he said.

"Huh?"

"You were whispering," he said. "I could hear ss, pss, sshh, ch, ss and it woke me up."

It dawned on me. "Oh," I said, aware enough now to be totally mortified. "Oh. I was, well, I was reading."

"Oh," Dave said. I'm not the type to read aloud to myself. I read far faster than I can speak.

"I'm sorry!" I said, really embarrassed now. "I wrote something and I was reading it over to see if it was ok, and I didn't realize I was reading out loud!"

"It's all right," Dave said, unusually affable (his sarcasm is either fullblast or nonexistent in the middle of the night. More often, nonexistent, though that means it will have extra gumption the next day. I have not heard the end of this, don't worry). "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

*hides under pillow, clutching keyboard*

Man, usually I just laugh when people say this, but: why, O why, am I such a freak?