There's truly not much around to give them fear. Daisy and Kit Carson are spoiled, pampered felines used to having everything going their way every day. Although both had hard-luck beginnings - Daisy was found abandoned on a highway medial strip, and Kit was the sole survivor when a pack of dogs attacked his family - they are now indoor darlings inconvenienced only by the vacuum cleaner.
But some things scare them. Both hate garbage trucks, inexplicably. Many trucks rumble by as they look out the apartment windows, and they're OK with that until they hear what must be the particular sound of the big garbage carriers. Daisy also hides when there's thunder and lightning; Kit, with four hurricanes under what would be his belt if he wore one, isn't fazed. Conversely, Kit goes on alert when he sees a dog, even at a distance. Daisy just gazes on.
Then there's the vet, of course; that extra-loud fire alarm in this building; and being stalked by each other. Not an extensive list when I consider my own fears.
My collection is much bigger and category-specific. Beyond my endemic fears - dentists, being buried alive, becoming a bag lady, etc. - I have island fears and writing fears. Herewith:
ON NORTH CAICOS
"Buick" spiders. I've become used to most of the island home invaders except for these particular arachnids, spindly and sprawling to an amazing size. (Tom and I named them after a line from Woody Allen's "Annie Hall": "You have a spider in there the size of a Buick.") They're actually good eaters of mosquitoes and quite wimpy, folding up at the touch of a broom, but fear isn't necessarily rational.
Extreme weather. Maybe not a fear but a deep respect, a perfectly reasonable feeling on a small, flat piece of land surrounded by a mighty ocean in Hurricane Alley.
Development. By this I mean large resort schemes planned by people who want to turn pristine beaches and prime habitat for endangered species into money. For themselves. Very scary. "Attack of the Seven-Story Condo" could be a blockbuster.
Political independence. The Turks and Caicos Islands are currently a British Overseas Territory, but over the years there have been recurrent rumblings about "going independent." It's just my opinion, but I think the idea is as frightening as trusting your home, liquor cabinet and sportscar to a group of hormone-charged teenagers.
Capricious government workers. Ever deal with one of those easily offended office workers who has carved out a fiefdom backed by an inflated sense of self? OK, imagine giving that person the power to banish you from the island a la "Survivor." Shudder with me.
Bad grammar. There are oh-so-many things to scare a writer, in both our own work and that of others. Especially unnecessary apostrophes. And no, that is NOT NOT NOT apostrophe's!
People who can't tell fiction from real life. Like the politician who chides Murphy Brown about her sex life. Or the fan who asks actor Patrick Stewart how it feels to be threatened by Romulans. There's something very spooky about those people.
Success. OMG, can I ever write again?
Failure. OMG, will I ever be able to write?
NaNoWriMo (see previous blog). Coming up with the first draft of a novel - 50,000 words - during the month of November. I might as well have said I'd spend the next 30 days doing a daily bungee jump. Aaugh!