Phobias and an epiphany

Scooby has phobias--last night he was frightened by the deflating birthday balloon that had detached itself from the playroom ceiling and was floating eerily around the house at waist level. But his real phobia is storms. He must have misjudged this morning, because when a neighbor triggered the light outside my bedroom about six, he was raring and ready to go. Not half an hour later, it was thundering and still ominously dark. Usually he senses these things a couple of hours in advance. This afternoon after our nap--the dog, cat, and I all nap together every afternoon--he refused to go out, though as far as I can tell it's sunny and fine.

But I can sympathize because I have phobias too, lots of them. When the kids were home the last two weekends, my fear of open spaces came back gangbusters. I think just because of general excitement. No one could have convinced me to walk across a parking lot alone--you might as well have asked me to walk across the Dead Sea. I had a mini-panic attack at the thought. If one of the kids held out a hand, I barely touched it but it was enough to get me going, and I crossed whatever lot it was. But if open spaces sometimes scare me, closed in ones always do. And today I had an MRI on my shoulder, which meant going into that tube head first. But I impressed the heck out of myself by walking across open spaces alone with confidence to get into the office and doing very well during the procedure. Okay, I was clutching the panic button, but I didn't use it. Kept my eyes closed, prayed for strength, and practiced some meditation--not as bad as I expected it to be. For one things, it's so noisy, I got intrigued trying to count the different "takes" and listening to the different sounds--at least one was like the beat of heavy metal music. But I did it. The technician was proud of me, and so was I! So tonight I'm feeling strong and confident--which is a wonderful feeling.

And I've had an epiphany or, as my mentor Fred more calmly called it, a significant insight. I finished the Julia Spencer-Fleming novel--finally!--and went back to my own novel, determined to add to it the depth and insight that I found in hers. It didn't work. "Depth" and "insight" are not quantities you can paste into a manuscript with a sentence here and there. I began at the beginning and read again, for the umpteenth time--and found what I'd found before. The story flows--and there's no place to stick in this line or that of deep emotions. I decided my manusript is what it is. I'm not Julia Spencer-Fleming or Deborah Crombie. I'm writing in my voice, from who I am. My stories will appeal--should they ever reach the light of day--to a different audience, but they are me. So now I'm back to it.

My web page is almost ready to post, and I am most excited about it. Watch this space for a url.

Oops. Scooby was right. I got him outside, with a bit but not too much of difficulty, and fed him, gave him fresh water, and cleaned his yard. Ever since I fell on him, he cringes and slinks away when I pick up the pooper scooper to clean the yard. But now there are storms just barely to the west of us. I'll have to go let the poor dear in again.