Fear is my double-edged sword.
One side of it’s razor-sharp blade terrifies me, while the other inspires. It slices through bland mediocrity and frees me.
Fear comes to me in all shapes and sizes. I’m very creative at finding new things to be fearful of. I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying that the story I’m working on:
- isn’t worthy of lining a kitty, litter box
- will die after a dynamic opening, as if it were a beautiful bride jumping from an airplane without a parachute
- isn’t as good as my last one and readers won’t come back for more
- is too much of a change from my last one, so I’ll lose my old fans who I adore
- has too much sex to be tasteful
- doesn’t have enough sex
- isn’t suspenseful enough
- isn’t funny enough
- isn’t romantic enough
- isn’t thought provoking enough
- isn’t enough …
- will fail.
On the other hand, fear excites me, because I know if something I’m working on scares me, it means I’m pushing my creative boundaries, and it is at those moments, the moments when I dance with my fear, that I feel most fully alive. In those moments I tune out the noise of the world, and the noise of my mind and write. Not like anyone else. Not for anyone else. I just write. And the words line up on the page like pure magic.
“I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts.” ~ Virgil