I've been outlining a character to plug into the outline of a short story. lots of little things, notes and idiosyncrasies and things I'd like to include. taking "advantage" of the microcosm observational skills that I think I have. poking at the little things, expanding on the little things. feeling good about having a project to place thought into cumulatively.
had a moment of terrifying, paralyzing analysis where I started seeing things in the character and the story that could be similar to a version of myself, felt like I was calling myself out on it. felt like a fraud, even a narcissist. wanted to throw the book into a house then burn the house down.
I've not written at length for probably two years. maybe more. it's mostly been letters, short poems, and music analysis for the mixes and end of the year lists. I'm getting in my own way about something I love to do, something that comes really natural. and not even putting it out there for the paranoia of being called out on something.
not listening to that voice.