Fear Is Like a Cat

Some people find it exciting to start a new writing project. Not me. I would much rather tackle revision.

In the beginning—anything can happen. Anything. Just the thought of sitting down and beginning causes a little flutter in my stomach, a breathlessness in my throat.

I know it's fear. Fear that has the power to stop me cold. Fear whispering in a thousand voices, all in my own mind.

Once upon a time I tried to reason with this fear. I tried to argue with it, to threaten it, wrestle it, ignore it, outlast it.

I tried with all my mind and heart to overcome it. I could not make fear go away.

Then I learned fear is a cat. When it purrs in my ear and rubs it's back against my leg, I smile.

"Hello, Kitty," I say, and reach down and pet the cat.

"I see you. I know who you are and where you come from."

The cat lays back its ears. I give its head a little scratch.

"Don't mind me," I say. "I'm starting a new story."

The cat curls at my feet and goes to sleep.