I’m spiraling down.
One thought leads to another which leads to another until the first thought comes back around and the cycle begins again.
It’s a vicious cycle, an angry thing with sharp teeth. Each time around it takes a bite out of my confidence.
I still don’t know what to write. Not right here. Not right now. Not at the beginning.
The beginning is the most important part. If I don’t write a good beginning, you may not stick around to read the middle or the end. (Maybe I’ve lost you already?)
The spiral tightens. The stress builds. I feel the pressure.
Pressure makes me nervous.
When I get nervous, the words don’t come. When 30 seconds of hoping turns into 30 minutes of waiting, I know I have writer’s block.
Maybe I’m scared to write. Maybe I’m tired and just don’t want to write right now. Maybe feeling tired is my body’s way of giving me an excuse to quit.
But I really do have to write this. I can think of at least three reasons why.
When I don’t know what to write but I have to write—and I have to write well—the pressure is almost unbearable.
Almost.