Each morning, I sit at this desk, wanting to write. And invariably, a small terror gets ahold of me. What if it doesn’t work? I prove myself wrong daily, and still, every single time, I sit down with a restless spirit that plots an escape to safer grounds. I often weigh on skipping my commitments, picturing how I’d feel if I didn’t honor them, and the scenario that comes up is horrid. I lived there long enough to know that that is a place I don’t want to revisit. Who sits down with me at the table of creativity? Who hijacks my progress? And what makes stay with it?

In theater school, the actors were often frustrated when they couldn’t get a scene right. They got angry, unmotivated. Sometimes they wanted to drop the part. The seasoned teacher wouldn’t want to suppress but guide the student in channeling their feelings to the role. “Use that! Use that!” I remember a gesticulating director throw at the stage. We do exactly the same in writing.