Are You Okay in the Dark? Writing Through Your Fear
As a kid, after watching the cult classic Friday the 13th at a friend's sleepover, my brother went through a phase of being really scared of the dark.
In our family, fear was something to be dealt with head-on.
Old-west ranchers at heart, our parents were the kind who, if we got scrapes and cuts while playing, would say things like, “I’ve seen worse on my eyeball.” They raised us to be gun-slinging, no-nonsense, tough hombres, like characters out of a John Wayne movie. This attitude was well designed for life on a remote property in Hawaii, where we worked day in and day out to create a self-sufficient doomsday haven (a story for another time).
Living in the middle of nowhere meant our closest neighbor was a mile away, and they wouldn’t be popping by anytime soon—there wasn’t even a road for them to stop by. It was just our family of four, a hundred acres of untamed jungle, and a colony of wild boars.
If Jason, the hockey-masked, machete-wielding killer from Friday the 13th, were to show up, you can bet no one would hear your screams.
When our dad discovered my brother’s fear, he decided the best way to overcome it was to send us both into the darkness together. So long after the sun had set, two young kids were sent to walk around the woods with nothing but the moonlight (some nights without) to meet Jason face-to-face.
This went on for a handful of nights, but one particular night stuck in my memory. The house had gone completely dark; they had left us without a night light. We both knew that we wouldn’t be let back into our warm beds until this business with the dark was dealt with.
We felt completely on our own, but as tough as their methods were, I don’t believe our parents ever actually stopped watching over us. Looking back, I could imagine they were standing by the windows in the darkness, ready to run outside if we needed them.
I can’t remember if we held hands, though in my mind we did. I doubt there were tears of fright; this was not allowed. The image that lingers in my mind is the fear etched on my brother's face, so different from his usual goofy grin.
I was terrified too, down to my bones terrified. I can’t remember how long we walked in the darkness, but I do recall how my body felt: heart beating loudly, quickened pulse, sweat between my fingers, and the chill in the air.
I was shaken to my core with fear of the psycho killer that haunted my brother's dreams coming through the branches, the possibility of boars with massive tusks attacking us, and spirits of the forest coming to take us away. Yet something was different that night. Maybe I knew something had to be different.
Out of pure desperation to help my brother, to make him feel safe, I stepped into a version of myself I didn’t know existed. Suddenly, I began to talk to him with an otherworldly calmness. Maybe I even told a joke. The calmer I pretended to be for him, the calmer I became myself.
The fear was still there, but the desire to help someone I loved was far more powerful. Whatever this newfound bravery was, it was due to him.
I can’t say this cured the terror that Friday the 13th had invoked or that this was the last time we had to wander the forest in darkness, but it did get us through the night.
If you’ve made it this far, you may be wondering what in the world this has to do with writing.
Well, if you have felt your pulse quicken, your heart beat louder at the thought of writing your book—and what’s more, sharing this creative work with the world—then you know how much learning to walk in the dark is a part of the process.
You begin the creative journey never knowing what will come, not knowing if Jason is in fact real and waiting for you to let your guard down.
Each of us will face a moment when we question everything—whether it's worth putting ourselves out there, risking rejection, or being misunderstood.
Think back to all the times in your life you’ve been brave yourself. What stands out to you? How did you summon the courage you needed to do the seemingly impossible and deeply frightening thing you had to do?
I once asked an author who was facing her own fears about releasing a book into the world, whether it would still be worth writing if it helped just one person—if one person read it, and it completely changed their life, or even saved them?
She said absolutely.
That same book went on to become an international bestseller and has transformed the tens of thousands of lives it has touched, and continues to touch.
Even the most seasoned writers grapple with fear and self-doubt. The truth is, we may never fully grasp the potential positive impact our stories, hard-earned lessons, and words will have on others. It's especially hard to see when we're in the thick of it, haphazardly feeling our way into the night.
But for me, when doing creative work for myself is not enough to risk it all, one of the few anchors that keeps me going is stepping into the little kid who led her brother through the dark one night.
It is zooming out from myself in order to see who else is walking in the jungle in the pitch black with me. It is choosing to let love and that small sliver of possibility of helping others—or even just one person—be stronger than my fear.
If you are feeling anxious or scared to take the next (or even first) step toward bringing your book into the world, we are here for you. You are not alone in the forest.
