What I’m Afraid Of

I call myself a writer. When pressed as to what type, I typically fall back to “horror,” mainly because I have a tendency to throw in all kinds of oogity-boogities. Just my nature.

But that doesn’t scare me. I may believe in spooks, and there may be times when I hear a noise in the night and suffer a brief flash of worry. There may be games, books, or movies that make me a trifle anxious or give me a “nuh uh, not going in there” mentality. But that’s not real fear.

Sometimes I worry that my asthma will get the better of me and I’ll just drop dead at some point, having been unable to get to my aspirator in time. Or that I’ll go to sleep and just not wake up, a fit of apnea doing me in quietly with no fuss, muss, or bother. But that’s not really fear, either.

Instead I fear judgement, the judgement that seems unique to the last few years. I am paranoid about every word I write and say, and most of those I think, because at any moment it feels like one wrong word can summon the mobs to crucify me and leave me with nothing, a very special kind of nothing that clings to you for years, decades, potentially the rest of your life, and all for the crime of voicing an opinion that ran counter to the current “acceptable” ones.

But that’s not all. I fear that I may have said, done, Tweeted, blogged or commented somewhere years or decades ago, and something in that might be considered offensive and worthy of assault for mindcrime or wrongthink. Even if it was off-hand, written in anger, an opinion I no longer hold, humor – pathetic attempt or otherwise – or just baiting someone.

I fear that what is acceptable today will become unacceptable tomorrow, and some screengrab of something that was totally okay and unoffensive when I said it will turn into criminal evidence a decade later.

Result of that fear? Complete mind-freeze. A couple of my projects have gone into the trash drawer, not because I don’t like them or because they stalled, but because I was informed that I didn’t have a right to write about certain things. Once upon a time I would have told someone saying that to me to go fuck themselves, but now doing that is a great way to get blacklisted.

It seems like a ridiculous situation, especially given that the apparent thought police who have created this situation are frequently claiming to be on the side of free speech, free expression, anti-fascism, diversity, and inclusion.

I don’t get it. I don’t know what to do about it. Do I throw Lune de Amant away because it’s apparently criminal to include Marie Laveau in a book set in Louisiana during the 19th century with werewolves and ghosts about? According to a pair of e-mails I have received, yes, yes I must. Removing Ms. Laveau and inserting some fictionalized version isn’t allowed, either; I’m culturally appropriating voudoun at that point. Make them a generic white sorcerer of Hermetic traditions? Now I’m whitewashing. Given that one needs a wizard character, and one really likes the late 19th century New Orleans vibe, there doesn’t seem to be a way to do it that isn’t sending the trigger police out in droves. So into the trash my darling goes.

There’s other examples. I choose not to speak about it right now, because honestly, I think I’ve probably said too much as it is. I’m not going to be surprised if even posting this gets me a target of some kind, or leads to being referred to as regressive, a Nazi, a racist, or god knows what else. It doesn’t seem to take a lot. But I had to get it off my chest.

What about you out there? Are there subjects, characters, concepts or stories you’d like to write about but can’t, either due to fear or the reactions of potential readers? Do you think the way social media and the public trial of any opinion currently operate is good or bad for artistic pursuits and creativity, or society at large? Let us know down below.