It’s easy for me to say that fear and ecstasy go hand in hand, that our highest joys are the flip side of our darkest nights. But when I’m before the looming doorway of opportunity, safety is my siren song, dragging me to its comforting shores. 

Fiction Bite - My Diagnosis

What does it take to scare you? To send your heart pumping in your throat. Your palms cold and clammy, trembling from the thrumming rush of adrenaline. Is it a spider? Staring at you with eight reflective eyes as it crawls towards your on eight scurrying legs. Or the monster in the closet? The bogeyman under the bed? The muggers lurking in the dark alley?

For me, it was a piss and three words. Soft, slow words. Uttered a thousand times to a thousand women.

‘Congratulations, you’re pregnant.’ 

Quote of the Week

“The best way out is always through.” — Robert Frost.

Book recommendation - A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver (Amazon, Blackwell's)*

I loved this slim dissection of poetry. It’s clear, concise and profound. Whether you write poetry, are interested in starting (as I am) or just enjoy the art form, this book has something for you. It is a trip behind the curtain into the depths of a master poet's toolkit, explained with lyrical prose. 

Something to Try

You know that big thing you’ve been putting off? The one you say you’re not avoiding, you’re just going to do later. Can you sit in the emotions of it, just hold the fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty and let them flow. After, come back and write them down. You don’t need a resolution, or to judge, just acknowledge their presence.

For solidarity, my big scary at the moment is writing. Many days the long tortuous path to an earning author terrifies me, so today I wrote a poem about it. Sure, it’s a sucky poem, but it got my emotions out. Once they were on the page and no longer swirling around my veins, the bite had left them.

When I stare down the long road

From here to the author I want to be

My heart shrinks, desiccates inside my chest.

I collapse, as trembling knees

Heap me on the cold stone floor.

They have done it, so can I

Shouts Optimism, my favourite friend.

But how many others are like you

Says his twin, who I dare not name

Searching and yearning

And look how much cleverer they are.

‘Be stubborn, play the long game.’

‘And waste your life aiming for the moon.’

‘Better than bathing in dirt, for want of ambition.’

So I scrape myself up, pouring myself before the keyboard

And type another line. Just eight words,

Before my lungs go on strike.

Final Words

I’ve struggled this week, not with the act of writing — I love that — but with the weight of the path ahead of me. I know I just need to keep my eyes a few steps ahead, only glancing up to check the course, but this week it has all felt too much. My ambition has crushed me, leaving me certain of failure before I’ve even tried. And I've survived, I kept writing, and next week will be better.

Why am I telling you this? Because I think we don’t speak about our fears enough. Our darkest fears, not the bland, small frights we fill conversation with. How often do we open up about the gut wrenching, shiver inducing terror we hold within? How often do we share our deepest dreams, and the haunting shadow of fear that hangs just a step behind? If you’re like me, rarely enough. I wonder how many of our fears we could vanquish, if we spoke about them. If you need someone to share yours with, I’m here. Just hit reply.

With Love

Joe

P.S. What did you think of this week’s email? Which was your favourite bit? Hit reply and let me know.

*These are NOT alliliate links.