Sorry for the cliche but writing is fear

This month of redrafting is weird. Waves of debilitating panic wash over me. I think, frick me, why did I ever begin this, will I ever finish, isn’t every thought and word garbage?

But I’ve been here before. The only way forward is the next small step. Do something and progress is there. “And the world is not what it seems to poor blind birds,” sing The Felice Brothers on the wonderful real-poetry folk savagery of new album Undress, the sound fills earbuds while around me the hubbub of Cafe Fika burbles. A waitress glances at me waving my arms in mime, she smiles. I smile. I can do this.

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