For those of you not familiar, my adoration of the word “swag” is marginally inappropriate. I use it to describe things that may or may not actually have swag, from a car I pass while walking down the road to a particularly impressive sandwich. But after presenting this afternoon at the JHISS in front of a crowd of acquaintances, classmates, strangers, and generally extremely literate and wonderful people, I understand the meaning of swag in an intimate way I never did before.

I’m considering getting business cards just so I can put it next to my title: Allison Epstein, Swagmaster Novelist.

If you can’t tell, I’m still riding the writers’ high after presenting.

That’s not to say, of course, that I wasn’t nervous beforehand. My fellow writers and I did all we could to calm our nerves beforehand, from deep breathing and sun salutations to sing-alongs with the a capella version of “Go The Distance” from Hercules. But no matter how hard we tried to convince ourselves we weren’t nervous, there was no use lying. It’s a nerve-wracking experience, taking something you’ve been slaving over for a month in the private quiet space of your mind and your laptop and then presenting it to people whose names you don’t even know. What if they don’t like it? What if they tear it to pieces? (Don’t forget, they’re allowed to come up and talk to you afterwards!) What if, worst of all, they just get up and leave?

Needless to say, this did not happen. Our presentation, to put it lightly, was ONE OF THE GREATEST MOMENTS OF MY LIFE. I’ve heard of and experienced the runner’s high, but the writer’s high is almost even more fun. I got in The Zone as I stood up to read the part of my novel that I’d selected, and it didn’t feel like I was taking too long or people weren’t listening. I got into the story, and I think the audience did the same. Nothing else mattered.

And then there was the equally amazing experience of being able to speak to the audience after having finished our presentation. They had listened to our words and watched our plays, cringed and smiled and considered at all the appropriate times, which should be enough for any performer. But what I hadn’t even anticipated was how genuinely enthusiastic they were in the talk-back performance. My writer’s high spiralled out of control. People from the summer school from my historical fiction workshop came up to me and said they thought my story was excellent. My fellow students and I were complimented left and right. One of the women said she never even looked at her watch once (we presented for about an hour and fifteen minutes). Another asked me where she could buy my novel I’d read from!

I felt a little guilty admitting to her that it wasn’t done yet. Maybe someday, ma’am. Here’s hoping.

As writers, I find that we’re all junkies for feedback. I’m constantly foisting my work on unsuspecting friends and family members, pouncing on them the moment they put down the page and asking, “Well? What do you think? Be honest!” But the people at JHISS were not only more than willing to give feedback, but it was the nicest, most genuinely enthusiastic and supportive feedback I’ve gotten in a long time. After performing, all my nerves were gone. I genuinely felt like I could go out and take over the world.

Of course, “taking over the world” in this context meant “get some chips and a half Guinness, then go listen to an awesome a capella group sing traditional Irish folk music, and then collapse in bed to blog and watch Netflix.” Because my energy really can only sustain me so long. And would you believe there’s still two days of this wonderful madness to enjoy?

Don’t worry, though. Your resident Swagmaster Novelist can handle it.