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This went somewhere I wasn’t expecting

This may be the smartest thing I’ve read read as attributed to Ernest Hemingway.

“Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk.  That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.”

This is excellent advice but, I can’t say when I look back on any of the asinine things I have done that they were promised under the influence.  I drank A LOT when I was younger.  By the time I was legal, I’d more or less given it up – or end up in rehab – the choice was clear even at 21. 

I doesn’t matter, though, because my personality is such that I love a challenge, don’t ever tell me no, and I’m always up for something fun.  In fact, I have no problem being the designated driver.  The risk lies with the drunk people in my car not because they are in danger of vehicular mayhem.  The mayhem I get them into is of an entirely different nature. 

I don’t need alcohol to come up with crazy ideas – ideas that make GREAT stories later, and I can be quite persuasive.

For example, stone cold sober I dared people to go bungee jumping.  Of course, I regretted that moment of rash stupidity standing on the edge of a building 17 stories from the safe Las Vegas street.  But I did it and I have video proof.

It was me, without one single drop of mind freeing alcohol, who prompted my girlfriends and me to hustle our butts down to the tattoo parlor and get our belly buttons pierced. 

Not even one of my tattoos (yes, Ken, there are multiple – it’s all part of that “black sheep” thing) involved alcohol.  One involved a dare of sorts – I don’t think Tim and Kurt believed I’d go through with it.  The fools.  They should have known their best friend better.  Two others involved men in my life telling me I couldn’t have a tattoo, and the other two are intensely personal.

I’ve raced cars – professional cars on professional race ways and hot rods on deserted roads in the middle of the night.

I’ve proven to be an excellent shot with a .45 Magnum, Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry weapon, even though I’m sure I’ll never own a gun.  All because some asshole doubted I could do it.  It wasn’t at gunpoint I made him eat crow, but he ate it nonetheless.

 I like the incongruity that these things bring to the table when you meet me.  I like to be unexpected.  I love to tell a good story.  I quite honestly have “start a bar brawl” on my list of items to do one day – keep that in mind if we go out.

But honestly, with all the things I’ve done that were either brave or stupid or, most of all, tested my mettle, there are two things that very clearly stand out in my life.  By far the bravest things I’ve ever done, and consequently the things I am most proud of, are being brave enough to get pregnant again after the loss of my first child at birth and writing a book.

The first thing is obvious.  Getting pregnant with Sassy was absolutely horrifying and by far the most concentratedly terrifying 7 1/2 months of my life.  I trod a very thin, thin line, held together with baling wire and spit, terrorized at the thought that it could happen again and being powerless to control the outcome.  Hysteria was always just a heartbeat away – literally.  The pregnancy with The Bandit was different.  Scary but, tempered with the knowledge that it had worked out once, emboldened with trust that I could do it again.

Writing a book isn’t the scary thing.  Letting people read it is.  It’s an intensely personal thing to dig this out of yourself and get it down on paper.  To allow people to read this thing you pulled from inside, is incredibly intimidating.  Opening yourself up to criticism for something you hold so close is not for the faint of heart.  People have opinions and I hate knowing those opinions matter to me.  Even now, having two novellas published and a book an agent loves – loves enough to stake her much respected reputation on representing, seems to barely give validation. 

Holy Cow! When did this silly post turn into a confessional?  Maybe I should just go have a drink, huh?

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