Yesterday I made a commitment to write today. I woke up this morning too scared to get out of bed. I pulled the blankets up around my chin and clamped my eyes shut, refusing to face the day, or more accurately refusing to face the page.
Ask anyone who has ever claimed the title of writer and they will tell you about the terror. Remember watching Psycho; that moment when the Norman appeared in shadow, his knife looming over Janet Leigh as she showered. The anticipatory dread associated with writing is something like that. That's the dread I felt this morning.
Ultimately, the dread is associated with a fear of failure, I suppose. What if I attempt to fly but never even manage to take off? What if I have nothing to say? What if I bare my heart and soul and they scoff at it? Worse yet, what if no one even takes notice?
Yeah, writing is scary business. I am trying to take the advice of people who have been at this a little longer than me. It's simple they say: just show up and write. Don't worry about being good or getting published. Just put the pencil to the paper (or the fingers to the keyboard, as the case may be).
I suppose I wouldn't do it if I had any other choice. More and more I am thinking that I don't. Writing (or, at the very least, creating) is like breathing. Sometimes the terror steals my breath away and I have to remind myself how to breath again.
No comments:
Post a Comment