When I'm nervous, I click. I click rapidly on the same spot, as if by providing input, my computer will magically alleviate my anxiety. It generally happens in tense conversations, while I wait for a reply from a long-distance friend. Discord has dealt with more than its fair share of my haphazard, hopeless clicking.

I'm scared. I'm scared of losing my job. I'm scared of running out of money. I'm scared of letting down the people who believe in me. I'm scared of wasting my life. All of these fears and countless others are as intertwined as threads of gossamer on a spiderweb, catching and entangling my hapless brain cells like flies for dinner. All except one.

I'm scared to write.

Why the hell am I scared to write?

Honestly, it evades me. Nothing brings me more joy than storytelling, and yet the thought of, y'know, telling a damn story nearly makes my heart drop. It's not that I can't, or don't want to. I want to so badly, and I've been doing it all my life. The problem isn't even a lack of prompts or inspiration, I've found. The problem is fear.

They say there's nothing to fear except fear itself. It's a pretty phrase, but it's rarely applicable in day to day life. There are lots of unspeakable, grotesquely real horrors out in this world of ours, lots of things to be terrified of and angry about. In this case, though, it may ring true, if only because I can't narrow down the source of the fear to any particular thing. I'm just... scared. I feel as though my mind is running itself in circles, a neurotic hamster wheel, to keep me from my passion.

Well, I've done stranger, bolder things for spite than writing. Welcome to my blog.