I used to sew Halloween costumes. I’ve made a space suit, a Middle-Eastern get up, a harem girl, a Care Bear, Super Mario, a green crayon. A purple wizard. A gypsy, a hippie, and a pair of pink striped clowns. So I know all about stitches, buddy.
Wait. You’re talking about the other kind? The ones they sew right into your very flesh? Eww! Ouch! Nope, never had them. Guess I’ve been lucky, eh? No stitches, no broken bones. No dismemberments or gaping wounds.
Does that say something about me? Am I too cautious, hiding behind my sewing machine, behind my apron strings, behind my ebook reader?
NO. I’ve done a few courageous things in my life. Courageous to me, anyway. I went up in a hot air balloon (that fairly crash-landed.) I tried water skiing (okay, so I have weak ankles. Took a little water.) Once got up (and down, see: water skiing) on snow skis. On one particular fun and notorious vacation, I wedged a snowmobile into a barely visible pine tree. Only a few of those pine needles still remain imbedded in my forehead, but the way I comb my hair, you can hardly see them through the green hair dye.
What else. Scary. Hmm. Does being a parent count? WAY scary!!!
How about getting a book written and published? How about 7 books? Try being brave enough to tell people about those stories, and asking them to take a chance and actually buy one!?
(Ah, marketing. Don’t you just love it?)