It isn't an easy confession to make. I'm hoping that it will help others deal with the scary stuff that creeps around the corners of life, waiting to snag us in a web of fear.
When I was very young, my ability to detect every hiding place, every conceivably camouflaged pile of branches, every shadow under the stairs where monsters and evil doers dwelt, was, quite frankly...amazing!
These treacherous beings would lay in wait for my curly head to come bobbing along a perilous trail, naive as a newborn pup, and walk into the finely concealed trap they had laid.
They were very surprised when I'd inevitably stop dead in my tracks and test the air for a scent of danger.
If I felt that peculiar thrill of fear ripple through my body, I quickly retreated and ran for the safety of my tree.
That would be the ancient Weeping Willow tree that graced a far corner of the family property.
Its long, leafy limbs touched the ground and with the slightest breeze, would sway in an undulating motion that was both graceful and comforting. I would crawl under those green branches and become completely invisible to anything or anyone.
As if I was being rocked by the gentle movement of a boat, I would calm, and feel the threat from the dark begin to evaporate like the dew in a warm sun.
This was my childish way of dealing with an adventure that became more frightening than fun because of my vivid imagination.
Now that I am a fully mature adult (by most standards) I use that imagination to write my books and stories. Perhaps my childhood experience reflect your own; or maybe you think I suffered from an excess of make-believe. No matter.
I am grateful for those memories of being scared half to death by the shadows and creaky noises. Today I let my imagination roam freely into dark places as I sit safely and snugly at my computer in...my Willow Room.