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What scares you, my friends?

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yes, folks, that’s really me on the left. In my true form.

With Halloween arriving tomorrow, people are focusing their efforts on creating fear. It’s a strange way to begin a season that ends with the wonder and peacefulness of Christmas. And I’ve often wondered why we put ourselves through this effort to create bedlam and gore. I’ve come up with this personal theory: we love the feeling we get when we realize: it’s not real. That blood spouting from TV’s Roseanne when she put her hand “down the disposal” is fake; the ghost traveling from tree to tree is a bed sheet on a string; the hatchet buried in the 10-year’s old’s head is rubber. Thank goodness!

What we need to do―to celebrate this holiday in a manner true to its purpose―is to spend some time dwelling on what really does scare us. So turn off the lights, strike a match on a few black candles and gather around. Here’s my list:

  • I’m morphing into my mother. For those of you who have met my mom, you’re wondering why I wouldn’t want to be this lovely woman. But, she’s my I’m frightened that I will contract every ailment that has ever affected her all at once, and I’m sure I will inherit every personality quirk that irritates me as her daughter.
  • I have to get on that square, flat box on my kitchen floor that absolutely terrifies me. That thing has the ability to make or break a good mood and holds an evil, vile power over me. It’s called: the scale.
  • My daughter is going to wake up one day and become the zombie teenager she never was. Somehow she missed the “I hate you” stage and is nearly out of her teens. I’m certain she’s scheming to make up for it in her twenties.
  • My husband will fall in love with golf. Somehow RJ escaped the Stepford Husband syndrome of loving every sport ever created to enable men to try to kill each other. That must mean that I’ll come home one day and find a rousing game of golf on the tube.

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    and that’s my hubby in the background, lurking

  • Ebola will find its way to Washington, D.C. after killing off half the population on its way. I’m not really scared of Ebola, folks. But I wouldn’t want to disappoint the media or not include the word “Ebola” in my blog tags this week.

OK, so none of these horrific things has anything to do with writing. But how is this for terror?

  • I’m going to go broke as well as crazy. Writing a book is a wonderful, awesome experience but such a small part of what you do as an author. When you walk into a book event, you face the possibility that not a single person will approach your table or care who you are.

Or maybe:

  • I’m going to make it really big as a writer. I also wonder what would happen if I became that successful author. Mom and I have forced ourselves to learn how to speak to audiences—a scary experience. We’ve even been interviewed on television. But what happens when Oprah takes notice and I have to face the real camera lights?

I guess I’ll face that terrifying event when it occurs!

 

Genilee Swope Parente

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Things I consider spooky

Walking into the kitchen intent on … now what was I going to do?

halloween

Dreamstime

A large glass of water, a computer, and me, all within close proximity. I am bound to reach for the glass, knock it over and watch the water sizzle the electronics.

The large bag of chocolate candy hiding on the top shelf of my closet … and no trick or treaters showing up at the front door. Hello five pounds.

Hitting the “new document” button in Word and watching the wall of white arise. Once my fingers start moving, I know that wall will fill up, but its sudden appearance can be intimidating.

Republicans.

Entering the highway at any time on any day of the week with the intent of getting somewhere at a certain time. This does not happen in Washington, D.C.

Being stuck anywhere for two hours with the knowledge that a bathroom is not readily accessible. I am, after all, an old lady.

Deadlines.

A sea of faces staring at me, awaiting words of wisdom and truth about what it’s really like to be an author.

The thought that I’ll never again be asked to talk to that sea of faces.

Most Democrats.

My daughter’s boyfriends.

My daughter without boyfriends.

My smart phone being a lot smarter than I am.

Spiders. And anything else with hairy legs that is smaller than a mouse. I don’t even mind the mouse. But don’t let me see a spider in my house.

Unintentional bad poetry.

An empty mailbox—be it electronic or metal.

A full mailbox.

A Sunday afternoon with nothing on the schedule. That means it’s time to clean the house.

An unexpected visitor to my home on Sunday night. Oh why didn’t I use my afternoon to clean my house!

And finally, Thursday mornings without an idea for a blog. Whatever will I say?

Happy Halloween folks — Genilee Swope Parente

 
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Posted by on October 31, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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