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March 22, 2010

FEAR.  It’s an ugly word.  I laugh in the face of fear.  I fear…Nothing.  No evil.  No man.  No — well, there’s a whole lot of other things I don’t fear.  In fact there’s a whole list of them.  Do you believe me?  I wish I did.

Do you ever wake up in the morning and your eyes open up and all of a sudden you want to close them again because it just seems too scary to deal with anything the day is going to bring?  And then you lie in bed with the covers over your head while you pray, “God, please help me to get out of this bed.  Please let me get up today.  Please help me to face this next 24 hours.”  Well, do you?

Or are you the person in the cornflakes commercial, the one that jumps out of bed with the sun coming through the window, scratches his/her belly in those cute plaid pajamas, reaches out in a big yawn, rubs his/her eyes and smiles? 

If you are, who the hell are you?  And where do you live?

Because I’m coming over to your house to make a scientific study of you.  I’m gonna rub some lint off those cute plaid pajamas and try and snort it so I can maybe can catch some of your essence, some of your—how do they say it?—Yes, your joie de vivre–that by some sort of a miracle you seem to inhabit constantly and that by some twist of fate I can only hold on to only fleetingly.

Oh, so fleetingly (How’s that for drama?)

There! I feel better now.  Well.  A little bit at least.

Hello.  How are you?  Me? I’m fine.  Perfectly fine.  Yes, my life is exciting.  Going to be pitching my book on Saturday.  Mmm. Yes, to fifteen agents all gathered in a room, all at the same time.  Cute, right?  Ha, ha.  Yes.  Speed dating with agents.  Great fun.

(Some people call it a cluster f&*^)

No.  That wasn’t me.  I didn’t say that.  The mad typist just jumped in there and danced all over the keys.  It’s like  faeries or elves or that sort of thing.

A couple of days ago, on Saturday, I started to write a little bit about how I ever got started in this whole endeavour (did I just spell that the English way?)  I don’t mean the writing of the book.  I mean the one I started when I was eighteen.  The one that gave me all that great material to write about.   Like I said, I started to write. But then I realized I was in over my head.  I was trying to transmit something I didn’t have.

You know the real reason I did all those things, made all those mistakes, grasped and clawed and loved and hated and kicked a can down the street?  It was fear. I was afraid.  Unreasonably afraid.  I thought there was no-one who cared.  I thought it was all up to me.

I didn’t  know I could stick my head under the covers, pray in the morning and ask God to please help, and then get up and live for 24 hours.  I really didn’t know.

Starting tomorrow, I’m going to run a series of excerpts from Episode One of the Book, Miss England.  I’d like to share some of the not-so-smart, maybe sort of stupid-and-crazy things I did when I was young and scared.

I don’t know.  Maybe you’ve done similar stuff.

Unless you’re the cornflakes guy.

Love & Perseverance

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