The One That Was Supposed to Go a Completely Different Way

'It’s the first kiss, it's flawless, really somethin’, it’s fearless.'

~ from "Fearless" by Taylor Swift


For the record, I see Taylor Swift much as I see Nicholas Sparks - utterly useless. For the most part. I do like that Sparks novels, however driveling they may be, are often set in coastal North Carolina. And, even though I think that I sing better than Taylor Swift, her lyrics are occasionally lyrical. Like the one above.

I very much like the idea of being fearless. I have often been at my best when I've been fearless. I've won tennis matches, run really fast, and kissed exceptionally pretty girls. I have often been at my worst when I've been fearful. I've lost tennis matches, run really crappy, and not kissed exceptionally pretty girls. The moral of this story - fear leads to regret. And regret sucks. Especially when we're talking about not kissing exceptionally pretty girls.

With that in mind... One additional lyric...


'And I'm still haunted by the taste of the kiss, I was too afraid to give him (her).'

from "Flies on the Butter" by Wynonna Judd


Let's run through the 'what-ifs', as in 'What if I was fearless and kissed that exceptionally pretty girl?'

1) She could push me away and hate me for the rest of my life (or her life, whichever comes first).

or

2) I could fall back on the 'I was drunk' excuse and thus avoid abject hatred (This would entail actually being drunk at the time of fearlessness. Of course if she was drunk too, it might help my case).

or

3) She could actually like it and kiss me back (I've been told I'm quite good. Some argue I'm The Best Ever. I have references. Seriously. Just ask. On those occasions, I was absolutely fearless).

So, if I'm so good (their words, not mine) when I'm fearless, why am I not fearless more often? If we can answer this one, it will change my life. Not only will I kiss more exceptionally pretty girls, but I'll win more tennis matches and run better (if I could ever make myself start running again). Honestly, there's no telling what fearlessness could lead me to accomplish (Leave 'petting snakes' off the list. No mother-fucking way am I going to do that. Not even to impressed the most exceptionally pretty girl in the world. Uh-uh. No way. Oh, and I'm probably not going to swim with sharks sans cage any time soon either. Jump out of a plane? That's a solid maybe. But only if she's pretty enough). In addition to kissing exceptionally pretty girls, fearlessness would get me published.

Do you want to know why I'm the best writer you've never read in print? Do you want to know why I'm procrastinating writing my novel? Because I'm a fucking coward. I am fearful, rather than fearless. If I could just get past my fears, I'd be good. I'd write my novel, submit it, get published, be asked to adapt the screenplay, win an Academy Award for my efforts, and marry Ashley Judd. Once upon a time, John Grisham was a lot like me. Minus the fear, of course. What I'm trying to say is that there is only one difference between me and any writer of any book in the Barnes & Noble fiction section. . It's not talent (with the exception of Nicholas Sparks. I've got him there). It's not connections (with the exception of Christopher Rice. He's got me there). It's not time. It's not ideas. It's none of the above. It's fear. Fear.

People (other than my mother) say I'm good. They like my writing. They've followed my blog for years. I even have a few (OK, like three) who love my fiction. They can't wait for the next chapter of my novel. Begs the question doesn't it? Well, they're friends. Friends are supposed to support me and like my writing. What about the rest of the free world? There's no telling. And truly, I'm not concerned about the world. I'm more concerned about a few people with the power to get me published. If they like me, I'm in enough. Published is published. The rest will take care of itself.

OK, if I've always been at my best when I'm fearless, what am I afraid of? Failure. Duh. What if no one with any power likes my writing? Even worse, what if they hate it? What do I do then? Keep writing for my mom and my friends? Self-publish? Blah.

But... What if I'm successful? I get published (refer to list of additional accomplishments above). And that will assuredly lead to kissing lots of exceptionally pretty girls. So, whether I like it or not, I'm going to have to be fearless. My readers and an assortment of exceptionally pretty girls are waiting. Who am I to let them down?

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