Yes, the year is still pretty new to use the label Scariest Moment of 2007, but I can't imagin too many cases where I'm going to be any more frightened.

Today I handed the complete manuscript of "Swift Mercury Raiders" over to a friend to read. I could just scream in terror, but the people of Panera have warned me against another outburst.

This past weekend I finished the latest edit of the book. I had stupidly mentioned the book to my friend, and furthered my stupidity by suggesting he should read it and give comments.

I don't want comments. I want encouragement and praise. Comments might be negative or "constructive." Praise feeds my ego — the main reason for writing. Constructive comments suggest the work is somehow less than perfect. I am beyond the age where I can persuade myself the lack is in the perception of the reader and not in my craft.

Truth be told, I've always been past the age of arrogance. I have a very shallow pool of self-confidence, and I've haded the chain to the stopper to someone else. I may soon be a fish out of water, flopping about and gasping for pride as I slowly suffocate.

Pretty, no?

But no matter. It's done. All that's left is to await his reading.

My biggest mistake, or possibly my most ingenious ploy, was to offer my friend co-author credit if he provides substantial plot points. He might try to take it over — which I will resist — or he might be even more cruel to distance himself from the dreck.

Yeah, sleep is not going to be a common friend for the next few weeks.