On Fear

I love scary movies.  Just this weekend I saw both Cloverfield and There Will Be Blood, two movies that couldn’t be more different, yet both are terrifying.  Whether it’s a giant monster or the effects of greed on humanity, there’s a lot to be afraid of in those flicks.  At the end of the day, however, they’re just movies.

I write scary stories.  I’m told I do this pretty well.  I’ve had friends tell me my stories gave them nightmares.  I live to give folks a thrill and a chill.  That makes my day brighter.  At the end of the day, however, they’re just stories.

Nine months after buying my first home, the economy is sinking like a stone.  I’m a wage-slave in a world full of lay-offs.  If I lose my job, I don’t have much of anything to fall back on.  Writing doesn’t pay nearly that well.  I have twenty-four cents in my savings account.  My car is on its last legs.  My degree in screenwriting is damn-near useless.

At the end of the day, that scares the hell out of me.