"I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by those trifles," he thought, with an odd smile. "Hm . . . yes, all is in a man's hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that's an axiom. It would be interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of . Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what they fear most . . .But I am talking to much. It's because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps it is that I chatter because I do nothing.
-Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment
Writing over the past few weeks has felt as though one was walking through a back alley, in the dead of night. Completely unaware of the what is/was to come. A fear rises up and you begin to ponder, "What will happen" or better, "How will it turn out?" Scenarios turn out, as risk assessment and then you feel enamored by the fear of possibility.
Yes, fear of the possibility…
…in which, your writing does not turn out the way you hope it will. Where your writing ceases to become indicative of you, where it looks less and less like you. A fear, who convinces you, creativity has been lost and now you are left with static memories and ideas, as a consolation prize.
Melding words and sentences together becomes a trifling. And still, when it is completed, you gaze upon it and wonder, "Does it even feel like me? Was it even worth it?"
Days of frustration build upon themselves, eventually becoming overbearing. You forgot what your style even looks like. You are stifled and frustrations cuts off the circulation that was once your creativity, and worse, your desire to write. It leaves you asking this waning question, "How did I end up here?"
Have you ever been held by fear when you write? Are you stuck in the possibility that it may not turn out how you expect it will?
