I’d like to think I’m a courageous man, but let’s face it, I’m a fiction writer. I lie, fabricate and embellish for a living. All while sitting at home in my pajamas.
And still I’m afraid. Despite spending most of my time with imaginary people over whom I have complete and utter control, I live in constant fear. Of what, you ask? I’m scared to say, but only a real ass would bring it up in a blog and then not elaborate.
So, without further unnecessary buildup, following are my biggest fears as an author:
Opening one of my novels after it's been published. Few things are more frightening than spotting a typo in a book you’ve put out into the world and that dozens of friends and family members might actually read.
Having only my mother show up to a book signing. Thank goodness this has never happened to me. My father, wife and daughter were there, too.
Losing a hand. I’ve tried typing one-handed before, as well using a speech-to-text device, but both methods resulted in text that was about as readable as a book by Stephenie Meyer.
Succumbing to the temptation to write what people want to read rather than the story stuck in my soul. I’m terrified of compromising my artistic principles for fame and money. Oh, how I wish a zombie apocalypse was stuck in my soul.
Having a cat ruin my manuscript. With two cats very fond of laptops, and a writing office with no real doors, this is a daily threat in my house. Plus, both cats are dicks.
Meeting Chuck Palahniuk at an event and accidentally talking about Fight Club. The first rule of meeting Chuck Palahniuk at an event is you don’t talk about Fight Club. But I have some pressing questions for him I don’t think I’d be able to stifle.
Not realizing one of my nipples is showing in a bio photo. Yeah, I know, revealing a nipple would likely only help book sales, but still.
Accidentally thanking cancer during my acceptance speech for a book award. Terminal illness turns my protagonist into a hero in my latest novel and the one I’m currently writing. If I were to win a major award for either book, I can’t promise in all the excitement I wouldn’t sing the praises of adenocarcinoma or the like.
Getting killed by a character from one of my abandoned manuscripts. Oh, you don’t think a fictional being from an unfinished book could come to life and seek revenge on the writer? That’s because you’re sane, you lucky bastard.
Going to hell and finding out I must spend all eternity writing book synopses. This one is too horrifying to even elaborate on.
Having one of my novels made into a movie by the same guy who directed the 1995 rendition of The Scarlet Letter. Demi Moore is fine on a stripper pole or in the Marines, but for the love of literature please keep her out of my book’s adaptation.
Finding out I have only three months to live when I’m six months away from completing a manuscript. I hate feeling rushed when I write. Also, I hate not having a say in cover art. Thus, this one would be a little scarier than some of the others.
Having my teenage daughter tell me she wants to be an author. After paying what will turn out to be a king’s ransom for her education, I’m petrified my daughter will take after me and make an exerted effort to be poor. To help fend against this, whenever I catch her reading a book or writing in her room, I tell her to knock it off and get back to Instagram or Netflix.
Having my teenage daughter’s books outsell mine. Like any father, I want my daughter to succeed. However, like any author, I secretly want all other authors to fail and go into real estate. In my daughter’s case, I’d want her to fail and go into reality TV or Oregon marijuana sales – you know, where the money is.
And still I’m afraid. Despite spending most of my time with imaginary people over whom I have complete and utter control, I live in constant fear. Of what, you ask? I’m scared to say, but only a real ass would bring it up in a blog and then not elaborate.
So, without further unnecessary buildup, following are my biggest fears as an author:
Opening one of my novels after it's been published. Few things are more frightening than spotting a typo in a book you’ve put out into the world and that dozens of friends and family members might actually read.
Having only my mother show up to a book signing. Thank goodness this has never happened to me. My father, wife and daughter were there, too.
Losing a hand. I’ve tried typing one-handed before, as well using a speech-to-text device, but both methods resulted in text that was about as readable as a book by Stephenie Meyer.
Succumbing to the temptation to write what people want to read rather than the story stuck in my soul. I’m terrified of compromising my artistic principles for fame and money. Oh, how I wish a zombie apocalypse was stuck in my soul.
Having a cat ruin my manuscript. With two cats very fond of laptops, and a writing office with no real doors, this is a daily threat in my house. Plus, both cats are dicks.
Meeting Chuck Palahniuk at an event and accidentally talking about Fight Club. The first rule of meeting Chuck Palahniuk at an event is you don’t talk about Fight Club. But I have some pressing questions for him I don’t think I’d be able to stifle.
Not realizing one of my nipples is showing in a bio photo. Yeah, I know, revealing a nipple would likely only help book sales, but still.
Accidentally thanking cancer during my acceptance speech for a book award. Terminal illness turns my protagonist into a hero in my latest novel and the one I’m currently writing. If I were to win a major award for either book, I can’t promise in all the excitement I wouldn’t sing the praises of adenocarcinoma or the like.
Getting killed by a character from one of my abandoned manuscripts. Oh, you don’t think a fictional being from an unfinished book could come to life and seek revenge on the writer? That’s because you’re sane, you lucky bastard.
Going to hell and finding out I must spend all eternity writing book synopses. This one is too horrifying to even elaborate on.
Having one of my novels made into a movie by the same guy who directed the 1995 rendition of The Scarlet Letter. Demi Moore is fine on a stripper pole or in the Marines, but for the love of literature please keep her out of my book’s adaptation.
Finding out I have only three months to live when I’m six months away from completing a manuscript. I hate feeling rushed when I write. Also, I hate not having a say in cover art. Thus, this one would be a little scarier than some of the others.
Having my teenage daughter tell me she wants to be an author. After paying what will turn out to be a king’s ransom for her education, I’m petrified my daughter will take after me and make an exerted effort to be poor. To help fend against this, whenever I catch her reading a book or writing in her room, I tell her to knock it off and get back to Instagram or Netflix.
Having my teenage daughter’s books outsell mine. Like any father, I want my daughter to succeed. However, like any author, I secretly want all other authors to fail and go into real estate. In my daughter’s case, I’d want her to fail and go into reality TV or Oregon marijuana sales – you know, where the money is.
