I have one great fear. Greater than negative or even mean-spirited reviews. Greater than fear of rejection or inadequacy. Greater even than a fear of never archiving this great dream of becoming a published author.
What is my fear, you ask?
That secretly, I’m that person on American Idol. You know the one. The delusional singer wannabe whose close friends have never had the heart to tell them they aren’t any good. They refuse to believe the judges when the inevitable crickets chirp and the judges breathe out their collective no.
I fear that I’m the one let through for the ratings, for the sensationalism. I fear that my writing isn’t as good as people might say.
I fear what goes unsaid.