How are you this evening?
I'm . . . okay.
Well, no, I'm not really okay.
I am stuck.
I've been stuck all day.
The writing, it will not happen. I sit here, staring at the screen for hours at a time and nothing wants to come. Story does not flow. The well is dry.
And I feel the fear creep out of the corners of my heart.
What if I can't write any more?
What if I never manage to write anything ever again?
What if I spend the rest of my life staring at a blank screen?
If I'm not a writer, what am I?
Who am I?
The fear gets a bit bigger with every 'What if...?' Until it feels like my throat is closing up and I want to scream into a pillow.
And then I remember the Litany Against Fear, from Frank Herbert's Dune novels:
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
I take some small comfort from that, but small comfort is better than none at all.