Writing on the edge

What is my edge? Where am I afraid to go? What is it that I'm afraid to write about?

Joy. Pleasure. Happiness. Fun. 

It's not that I don't know about those things. I do (kinda). I know pleasure. I can have big fun. I'm not all extra joyful or brimming with happiness, but those things are familiar. 

So why can't I write about them...consistently?


Perfection is the thing that keeps me from doing what I say I want to do. It's the thing that makes me do everything else —clean the bathroom tiles, mop the floors, organize my files — before I start writing.

I'm hesitant, afraid to make the move to write. I'm afraid of what won't come out; what might come out. I'm scared of getting it wrong, I'm terrified that it'll be terrible.