Writing and Riding Through Fear

About 15 Halloweens ago, I was home alone in my apartment on the second floor of a butter yellow 1920s house in South Pasadena. I got really freaked out by things that shouldn’t have been that scary. My neighborhood was highly trafficked by trick-or-treaters, and for whatever reason, the darkness and all the people streaming through the neighborhood made me uneasy.

In Los Angeles it’s not uncommon for people to drive their kids to trick or treating destinations, venturing way beyond their own neighborhoods in search of streets with highly decorated homes that give out candy generously. Masked strangers were invading my streets and comfort zone.

When I was of trick or treating age, I don’t remember the costumes being so realistic and dark. I remember masks and such, but not the kind of hulking, creeping, bleeding, ax-wielding type of characters prevalent today. I hated Santa and clowns as a kid. Something about people in disguise as something they’re not creeped me out then and still does to a degree.

There was a knock at the door and I refused to answer. The sound of my heart thumped loudly in my ears.

Next, plinking sounds bounced off the windows. The apartment was dark because I didn’t want people to know I was home–I didn’t have any trick or treat candy to give out. Before you judge me as a Halloween Scrooge, let me explain.

After spending all day with adolescents in my sixth grade classroom, the introvert in me did not want to deal with random people coming to my door. It seemed overwhelming to be friendly, handing out candy that would make kids high for their teachers the next day. Plus, I didn’t want creepy masked people in my face. You could say I was a conscientious objector.

When the plinking sound happened a few more times, I called the police, convinced a rowdy teenager was trying to vandalize the house or worse. The police came to the door a few minutes later and questioned me about the perp. They didn’t find the neighborhood monster. 

I found out later the person who was knocking on the window was a friend of my roommate’s. He was the drummer from our church. Clearly not a criminal or scary stranger. I felt terrible that I called the cops on a friend, but how was I to know?

Flashback photo to a time before I knew Knight had kissing spine, before the wildfire.

Fear Knocks Again at Halloween

This Halloween season fear is knocking at my door again.  Three distinct fears dancing like the Haunted Mansion specters sway in my brain.

To begin with, I’m excited and mildly terrified my first book will be published next month. I am eager to bring my memoir Horses Adored and Men Endured (that’s my affiliate link) into the world since the ideas inside have been waiting for over a decade to be shared with the world.  My trepidation stems from my self-doubt:

What if no one besides my family buys this book that I poured my heart into?

What if people buy the book and read it and write mean reviews?

What if people judge me? (I share some really vulnerable stories in this memoir–like how I mostly failed at all romantic relationships and hung around for what I thought were promising relationships that turned to dust).

What if some of the guys that I write about in the book somehow find it and sue me for defamation of character?

And the list goes on and on.

The Second Fear

I also possess a fear of trying new things. But I’m out to vanquish this one. Here’s how:

I mailed a check this week to become a member of my local fox hunt for the season. I feel like the new kid on the first day of school, convinced that everyone else knows each other and I’m the only one who recently moved from a faraway place.  This fear is not as intense as the first. Everyone I spoke to during the recent fox hunting clinic was great. It seems like a supportive community of riders.

If you have been following this blog for a while you’ll know my horse Knight is in a period of rehab right now, so I won’t be riding him in the hunt. I’ll have to coordinate a hireling. Speaking of Knight, I have great news! I got a text from his rehab angel (she really is awesome) stating he is ready to begin riding again. More on that in another future blog post. 

The Final Fear

My third fear centers on another writing dream. I will be embarking on NaNoWriMo for the month of November. If you’re not familiar with National Novel Writing Month, it’s a movement around the globe for novel writers to compose a 50,000 word first draft. I have an idea for a middle grade novel–a series actually–but I’m not a fiction writer. It’s daunting. 

I can write first person narratives all day long, but coming up with imaginary people in an imaginary setting with realistic conflict is going to be a bit of a challenge. I’m excited about some of the scenes that have played out in my head for this story, but I’m also concerned that I will fail. I have never even taken a fiction writing class! The last time I wrote fiction I was probably in middle school. 

Riding Through Fears

I don’t want to be paralyzed by fear. I’ve been thinking about these fears lately and my strategy to vanquish them is to do what I would do if I were in the saddle:

Look up and ahead. Breathe. Keep moving forward. Listen to my cheerleaders, not the self-doubt.

Isn’t it funny how very simple riding concepts translate so beautifully to the day-in-day-out situations of life?

Your Turn: What are some of the fears that you have faced in or out of the saddle? What strategies did you employ to move past the fear? Leave your thoughts in the comments section. Have you ever done NaNoWriMo? 

Thanks for reading and commenting. 🙂

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