It’s a common enough occurrence. You’ve spent the day at work, an hour in the car, thirty minutes in the shower, daydreaming about all the shocking plot twists, scintillating dialogue, and sweeping descriptions you’re going to write once you finally sit down in front of the laptop. You’ve cooked up ideas of blinding genius. You’re raring to go.
But then the worst happens: You open the word processor and stare at the blinking cursor, your mind suddenly blank, your fingers inept.
You start to question your worth as a writer. Am I cut out for this? you ask yourself. Am I smart enough? Creative enough? Motivated enough? Deserving enough?
Do I have anything important to say?
You lock up. You allow your doubts to freeze you. You close the laptop lid and fire up Netflix instead, telling yourself you’ll come back to the writing later.
But here’s the thing.