So today I give in to the urge to write. I have been feeling the familiar stirrings and frustrations when I read an article, or disagree with a talking head on TV, for a while now.
And therein lies the problem.
Just today I came across at least three topics I could write about and I am left feeling like there is too much in the world. Both too much to write about and too much written about it. Surfing the blogs on wordpress just makes me realise how many people have written so much about all the topics I want to talk on. And in that torrent of prose I find myself drowning, unwilling to put my own pen to paper.
So instead, for the start, I decide to write about my unwillingness to write.
Is it the fear that I will somehow be found lacking? That I will be deemed dull, repetitive, uninteresting? Or worse, somehow offensive, lacking in sensitivity and understanding. Or too sensitive, too much of a liberal lefty taking political correctness to new heights of absurdity.
Perhaps I will be too wordy, overusing flowery phrases and big words. Perhaps my lexicon will be too limited, and the banality of my prose will belie the gravity of the subject matter.
This article should perhaps be titled “Insecurities of a wannabe blogger”.
Or perhaps I should just give myself a break, pick the first topic I came across this morning, and start typing…