I’m setting up this post, not quite knowing what the point of it will be. I’m just sat, confronting my keyboard, with too many thoughts charging round my head. So here’s an attempt at setting them free.
For what felt like the hundredth time, I found myself stuck today. What over? An essay. Again.
I feel like all I ever talk about is essays, but my life is dominated by them at the moment. And it’s not that I can’t handle it – it’s just that with every single one, I reach a point before I’ve barely even begun where I just…stop. I start with my planning. I plan to the extreme. I write pages of notes and pull out quotes from every source available so that once I’m ready, I’m set, I’m confident. And yet I’m not. Because what if it’s not enough? What if I’m just not intelligent enough? And that – that thought alone – is what hits the hardest.
A frolic through fiction 