My third grade nephew recently told me that his biggest fear was that the world would run out of meat!
Then there was my drive on the eleventh hole at Silver Spring last week. That slice was pretty wicked. I didn’t know it was possible to make a ball zig-zag in a Z shape off the tee. It was scary enough to make grown men on distant holes cry.
But are you ready for my biggest fear of all? I’m talking boot-trembling, knee knocking, palm sweating scary here. It is not for the weak of heart. You may want to take a deep breath before moving to the next paragraph.
My biggest fear is… sending my story off to be critiqued!
Critique groups are like monsters. They have long scalpel hands that can tear up a story in one swift motion. They can squeeze every last drip of blood from your manuscript and then spit out the bones like chicken wings. They attack from every angle with the swiftness of a herd of hyenas. They take no mercy and leave you abandoned on the side of the road gasping for air.
I would rather polish clean the teeth of a hungry tiger than send my story to be critiqued. I would rather scarf down two-month old pad thai than read a critique of my story. I would run up and give Graveyard Granny a big smooch on the lips rather than have my story critiqued. I would gladly become a vegetarian if it meant no more critiques.