Fear Waits By My Computer

grayscale photography of human skull

Photo by ahmed adly on Pexels.com

I get up. I send the kids off to school. I grab a cup of coffee. I go to my office.

I say good morning to Fear.

Fear waits for me by my desk every morning.

Good morning, he says. Are you ready?

I am. I sit down behind my computer and push Fear away. He’ll breathe down my neck if I don’t. 

And I type, ferociously and as unbrokenly as I can manage because if I stop, Fear is waiting.

Fear is patient.

Are you sure that’s the right way to put that? He lingers at my shoulder. Then he shrugs. Never mind. Nobody reads your stuff, anyway.

You should’ve started writing novels earlier instead of that short story crap. Ten years earlier and you’d have an agent and been able to sell your stuff instead of messing around with this self-publishing thing. It’s just vanity press by a different name.

You should really get an agent, but agents don’t like what you write, do they?

Fear has a grip on me now, so he is confident enough to walk away a little. He looks back at me and shakes his head. Why did you quit your day job? Oh yeah, to be a mom. But you could get a real job now. Maybe you should. 

And now Fear has a little friend. Self-Doubt holds his hand, and is somehow more frightening than Fear himself. 

What’s the problem? Fear says. Are you afraid if you stop writing you’ll be just another regular Joe?

Maybe you already are, whispers Self-Doubt. Maybe you always have been.

Note: So far this month, I have defeated both Fear and Self-Doubt. I’m at 48,254 words of the National Novel Writing Month book. Take THAT Fear and Self-Doubt!


An odd ode to coffee, my true love

I’m tired. I’ll be honest, I’ve been staying up far too late this summer, mainly because–for the most part anyway–I can get away with it. Slower starts in the mornings are okay when you don’t have to rush the children to school. But I’m relying too much on my old friend and true love to get me through the mornings.


No matter how you drink it, if you’re addicted to it, you know what love is. I like mine with a packet of Splenda and a dab of plain Coffee Mate. Smooth, creamy and woodsy.

I recently had a friend tell me she no longer drank caffeine. She’s probably healthier than me, and I’m sure her teeth are whiter, but all I could think was…

No coffee?

A writer’s world revolves around coffee. I myself have no less than two cups in the morning and sometimes a cup in the afternoon. It’s a ritual steeped in superstition as much as need for caffeine. And unfortunately, my addiction is complete. I need my coffee. In fact, I was so moved by my need for the earthy tasting brown liquid, I wrote a little poem for it this morning.

And it goes like this:

I may need a cup of coffee this morn.
One cup should do it. Just one is all.
I may need more than one cup of coffee.
Up too late. It’s a writer’s life. One more.
I may need more than two cups of coffee today.
Not even noon and I’m dragging. Another please.
Three cups of coffee and I’m buzzing.
Tired and buzzing and not able to blink.
I think I need…where’s the bathroom?

Tune in tomorrow when I express my addiction to wine in song…or not.