I need to write this down because I need to think it through. Does that happen to you? The feeling that you can’t quite make sense of your own thoughts until you put them into words. So, here’s the situation. I’ve read - no, *studied* - the _Screenwriting Manual_ my wife bought for a university exam. I own over twenty books on how to write (and not just fiction, to be clear). I’ve listened to podcasts, watched tutorials, and asked for advice from people who write beautifully. I also have a list of ideas for stories and even novels that’s now pushing a hundred. It’s a list that keeps growing faster and faster - I'll have to unpack that some other time. They aren't all gems, not by a long shot. But I know there's something truly interesting in there. And so? So here I am. Procrastinating, hesitating, finding any excuse not to write. I have self-imposed deadlines, and they are looming ever closer. Why am I not writing? Why am I not writing *my* stories? Why am I not telling the things I've seen, the things swirling in my head, the things I know have value? Because I'm terrified. I am terrified that I won't be able to do them justice.  Stories deserve respect. They deserve care. They deserve love. And here I am, with my notebook and my fountain pen, scared to death that I’m not capable. Not capable of honoring them. It's rare for me to fear an intellectual challenge. In fact, I've gotten into trouble more than once for my big mouth and my inability to stay quiet. But now, here I am. I fiddle with my pen. I draw in my notebook, I doodle - anything to avoid facing this terror. Of course, it's not just about the stories. I'm also afraid of judgment. I'm afraid of letting down those who expect great stories, deep emotions, and vivid dreams from me. I'm afraid of disappointing them, and most of all, of letting myself down. Telling stories is part of my very core. It might just be the glue that holds my essence together. I’ve always told stories; I've always told *myself* stories. I’ve always wanted to believe it was one of my foundational gifts. And now, when I've decided to take it seriously - to enter a few contests, to write something for publication - it's right now that this primal fear rears its head. What if it’s not true? What if I’m not that person? What if, in the end, I’ve only been telling myself stories?