On the fear of making mistakes.

Fear of the blank page is not something I've experienced often. A blank screen, paper, or notebook always made me excited to fill it up with words, describing something fun, scary, amazing. I saved my fear for reading aloud.

I used to read with my brother every night, and every time we started a new book, it was so hard for me to get my voice going. I'd stare at the page, read the words over and over, with him complaining and urging me to just start already. And I'd try, and choke on the words, until I could bludgeon away the shyness and reach the part of my mind that really loved the story, that really wanted to say those words in that character's voice, the part of me that probably would have wanted to be an actress if some of the other parts were just a bit different.

If anyone else walked into the room, I'd inevitably stop, sometimes in the middle of a sentence, garnering suspicion that the book we were reading was bad. That wasn't why I stopped. It never was.

I haven't had the chance to read aloud for years. But now my comfortable relationship with blank pages is tenuous, and they're like those first pages of a new book. I stare at them with my fingers resting on the keyboard nubs, or my pencil on the paper, and my thoughts stick in my mind like tangled spiderwebs. Sometimes, music or tea, or a burst of anger or enthusiasm, unwinds some of them. But at the worst of times, my mind goes dark and I stay silent.

It's stupid to worry about what other people will think of what you're saying and let those thoughts shut you up, and I know it. But it's really hard, sometimes.

Music I'm listening to while writing Different Sky

Before Lindsey Stirling, I didn't like dubstep, but this song is pretty. And so is this: