Playing the What If Game

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If you’ve been reading my posts regularly, or heck, even sporadically, you probably know what a crazy eventful year I’ve had. I’ve posted about a lot of ups, and tried to stay away from posting about the downs (because we all know they exist—I just choose not to focus on them). And it’s cool. So cool, because so many of our events have been such great, wonderful news.

And yet, no matter how many wonderful things have come my way, all of these things have come with a bag, or a bucket, or a moving truck full of uncertainty. And we all know what comes—free of charge—with uncertainty. That naughty bad word—FEAR.

Despite last week’s post about conquering my fear of falling, and all my talk about being brave and blah, blah, blah, I think this year will forever be labeled as my year of fear.  This is the year when I play the What If game every. Single. Day.

What if this happens? Or what if this doesn’t happen? Or what if we try this? Or what if this works? What if it doesn’t? What if we move our family 1500 miles away and hate it? What if we move our family 1500 miles away and love it? What if my book does well? What if it doesn’t? What if my agent and I sell the one on submission? What if we don’t? What if my family can’t find a place to live? What if we do? What if I finish another manuscript? What if I don’t have time because of all of the above?

You get it, right?

I do this way too much lately. I think it’s one of the hazards of being a writer. Everything. Everything becomes an issue of what if. Everything becomes story material or plot fodder, or character builders.

I don’t have the answers to all my what if questions right now. But I do know one thing. Next year, when some of my recent things have passed, I’m going to have a HECK of a lot of story material.

What if…

My experiences could someday make me money. Or at least give me something to write about.

Yeah. Exactly.