Performance Anxiety

When the words just won't come

I sat looking at the blank screen. Now that the ball was rolling I had to continue ... I'd been bitten by the bug. The screen taunted me, I was lost for words, sweat broke out on my lip - it had to be better than the hub before, it had to be wittier, more well constructed, it had to engage and entertain.

But alas, I fear I am suffering from performance anxiety. No topics come to mind, other than that of the plight of the Pygmalian shrew in the deep darkest jungle. Nothing, not a peep, not a murmur - my mind slept - but my fingers played on, taking on a life of their own, determined to plough in through, climb the hill, win the race.

I checked to see that the words were in order and made sense, the ands and thes all in their right places, and suddenly I realised that I had actually written something. There they were all marching across the screen ... now to just narrow it down to something. They say writers should always write from the heart, should write what they know about, but that doesn't help me. I have a pit of useless information all stored away in the recesses of my mind, trivial information I have stored up over the years, about which I am quite sure no one will want to hear. Embarrassing moments, past dates, work experiences, books, poetry, sport, travel - all huddled there and feigning shyness about being seen in public. I'm no expert in any one thing, although I could give nonsense writers a run for their money.

Ah well, I guess if I persevere something sensible might come of it all. In the meantime I think I may very well just read with interest what others have to say and hope for the best.