Sometimes I just sit at my desk staring at the blank screen in front of me. It’s not that I can’t think of what to write. I have a million little ideas swirling around in my head, built up from random thoughts in the shower or while doing groceries. My heart beats hollowly inside me. I’m afraid. I know what I want to say but I don’t know how to say it. And I am so aware. I am not Shakespeare or Vonnegut. I don’t have that common sense way of telling a story like C.S. Lewis and my worlds look like finger paintings compared to Tolkien. My characters are stick figures next to J.K. Rowling. Before I’ve even put a word down I’m correcting myself in my head.

But I plunge in anyway.

And the words are there on the paper. But I still can’t quench this feeling inside. Surely something is wrong. The way I say things sounds too foreign, even after I’ve rewritten them over and over. I read them out loud to myself. It sounds like my voice but I’m not sure I like it. So I stare at the screen some more. My finger hovers anxiously over the publish button. “Just post it.” I say to myself. What am I afraid of?

Permanence. They say what goes on the internet stays there forever. This post will inhabit some dark corner of the internet for longer than I will live. Every word is like a child. I’ll be judged on how I’ve raised it.

Every post is a victory. It is me saying no to my fear.