Using the Head to Dispel Fears

As authors (many of whom are independent--spelled "swingin' in the breeze"), it doesn't take us very long to realize that pursuit of literary excellence does not a full-time author make--at least, not one who eats three squares a day. We must become grass-roots marketeers as well, and that's a whole new gig. Like editing, it is more mechanical than creative in nature...yet (unlike editing) it's not so easy to just hire it out. So we must become that technician, and the prospect of no longer riding on creativity alone strikes fear into our hearts.

How do we deal with such fear? Well, one way is to go back, once again, to our creative side.

I was reminded of our innate ability to address and dispel fears via creativity and courage by, once again, my 6-year-old daughter Veronique. The other night she burst into the parents' bedroom in the middle of the night, begging to sleep in the big bed. We hauled her up. Before sleeping she relayed the reason for the switch.

"I had a real bad dream."

"Wh...what was it, sweetie?"

"I saw a HEAD. And it was just there, and my hand touched it, and then when I reached again it was gone!"

"Well...gone is good, right? Now, uh, go to sleep; we're here, so no need to worry about any heads." Snoring commenced soon after.

The next night I tried to tuck her into her own bed, pretty certain that the subject would rear its ugly...you know what.

"What if I have another bad dream?!"

"Oh, you won't."

"It was a stranger."

"Okay, just a dream, you know, and..." My brain flailed wildly to find a way to change the subject to something funny. Didn't have much, but I went with the only thing that came to mind. "Hey, wait! You have these balloons hanging right here over your pillow, from their strings tacked to the wall! You put them there just the other day, remember? I think maybe your brain just got confused because they're...uh...round! Yeah! Ha ha."

As a distraction ploy it was weak, and I fully expected her to push right past that pitiful nonsense, back to the detailed realism I had no doubt she'd experienced...hair, nose holes, sunken eyes, crooked tooth, whatever.

But it didn't play out quite that way. Instead she reached up and squeezed the nearest balloon. "Hey, that does kind of feel rubbery, like the head did...when I squeezed it. Okay." And popping a thumb into her mouth, that was that, and she was ready to snooze.

As usual I was in awe. If we could only have such choice-based control over our adult fears, be they the prospect of marketing failure or apprehension over damaging reviews or whatever, perhaps we'd be much better prepared to reapply our creative natures to the new problems, without losing our...head.