It’s a scary thing to begin with, writing. You’re pouring your soul into this piece that other people will end up reading, consuming, absorbing, criticizing. There’s always a hope in there somewhere that someone will fall in love with your words, your story. But along with it is the fear that someone will close your book feeling disappointed.
The standards we set for ourselves as writers, however, are far more terrifying. I used to think it’s the opinion of other people that will hold me back. But right now as I sit here struggling to write this blog entry, not able to write a lick of anything since the day I didn’t finish something I promised I would last April, I’ve been proven wrong.
