Have you ever felt completely paralyzed because what you’ve wanted to produce was just good? Because you know it’s not as good as something that you could write if you just had more time?
When this happens, it doesn’t matter that you know that perfect is the enemy of good.
I know. Because this is my life.
I don’t know if all writers feel this when they sit down and stare at the blank page.
All I know, is that it’s debilitating.
And when it happens – when I sit down beside the computer, or open my notebook, and my fingers won’t type, or my pen won’t release the words on the page, I feel that the world is flat, stale and unprofitable and that the world would be better off without me.