Tag Archives: Fear

Keeping the Demons at Bay


Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been too damn long since my last blog. Anyone who may have been reading this nonsense has surely moved on to bigger and better things–the latest American Idol elimination, dusting the Hummels, replacing the batteries in your smoke detectors, the official opening of trout season, taking a spin on the Harley, paying taxes, the murder of bin Laden.

I’ve been busy too. But mostly I’ve been afraid. My nails are starting to split–just faintly I suppose. It is somewhat obvious in the white part but upon closer inspection the crack travels all the way to the cuticle. What does this mean? Lack of calcium? Too much typing? Time to get a dishwasher? Old age?

My eating has been a little strange. Sort of manic-depressive, with kale and brown rice for breakfast and buttered saltines for an afternoon snack. We’ve been eating on table trays watching Jeopardy for a few weeks–does that count as having dinner together? Does applesauce count as fruit?

My eyes are drying out. My contacts hate to be in there. Maybe I’ve developed allergies (to kale?), or I cry in my dreams, or I need to eat more carrots.

I was reading a ton, but suddenly stopped. I don’t know what to read next. What if it’s a dud, or I don’t understand it, or I could never ever ever in my wildest imaginings write a book as good?

I went to a writing conference in Boston, and I haven’t really been able to process how it was for me. I think it was great. I met some cool people and reconnected with some cool people and although I am not a cool person I didn’t feel completely out-of-place. I felt like I could follow the conversation. I know a little about voice and story arcs and I’ve read Jeanette Winterson. But it was a little bit of an out-of-body experience. My feet hurt and I felt bloated. I wasn’t sure I could do it, then I was certain I could, then I didn’t really think I could. Write. Finish something. Do it because I have to do it for me even though no one else really cares and I will never make any money at it and I have to embrace doubt and stay in the room and a lot of other stuff I can’t remember now.

They are pretty much everywhere, aren’t they? The fears. They take up a lot of space in my head at the moment, and I hear they are thinking of moving into my heart soon. I suppose I should try to evict them. Look for better tenants. But that seems pretty overwhelming. Probably a lot of red tape and paperwork involved. 

I do think I need to get back to this blog though. Enough slacking. Feel free to chastise me a bit. I deserve it. Absence, after all, does not make the writing grow stronger.


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