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There have been times in my life where I have let my fear lead me in my decision making, not something that I am proud of and I have spent time trying to change by leading with some semblance of confidence and optimism. Cowardice has been on my mind these past few days because in the back of my mind I keep wondering why all of the literary agents that I sent my manuscript have yet to answer me back, I know that it hasn’t been the six months,  but still and I dread checking my spam box for fear of what I may find. I do force myself to do it every other day, but my stomach churns with butterflies. On top of that, if that isn’t pathetic enough, two weeks ago I left a copy of the first part of my baby, my novel “The Chic Bootlegger” with my mother. I still haven’t asked her if she had read it, I am terrified to hear her opinion and the fact that she hasn’t said anything about it, tells me volumes. She must hate it and doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, which means I will never ask her about it, because I can tear myself down for her in my own imagination, hearing the words first hand from her lips will hurt too much. Why did I leave her the manuscript? Why didn’t I listen to my instincts, I had promised myself to never show her and in a burst of misguided optimism, I relented and left it with her the time before I was at her house. She had seen my red pen with my draft copy, asked if she could read it and I didn’t know how to craft an excuse giving me cover to refuse her request. That was at least 3 weeks ago and I haven’t heard anything, so my imagination is running amok. I can just hear her words in my head; “I don’t want to criticize you BUT ……..” The power of rejection is crazy.