Blogger’s Angst

No, I didn’t just make that up.  It exists, it’s a true feeling, definitely one I periodically experience.

When it comes to writing, every writer faces a sense of anxiety from the past and present, from all the glorious authors of the past whose works we now view as part of the literary canon, writers whose names are synonymous with greatness.  Add in all the writers of contemporary times, whose debut works have been critically acclaimed and whose names are the ones to watch out for, and you’re looking at a full-blown anxiety attack, complete with huffing and puffing and waves of dizziness.  One that even Aunt PittyPat’s smelling salts couldn’t cure.

This isn’t a new phenomenon yet it’s one that seems to never diminish.  How can one possibly even contemplate about creating a somewhat decent literary work when already there are a myriad books and authors out there who’ve gone above and beyond simply being good?  How can one ever hope to produce anything original when every idea may have possibly already been written about in a manner better than one could hope to accomplish?  How can a writer ever string together words when such combinations have already been formed and re formed and reworded by a plethora of other authors?

It’s daunting, really.  And I’ve come to realise that the same can be said about blogging.  I’m not even going to bother checking the sttistics out there becuase I’m sure I don’t want to know how many other bloggers exist out there.  There are alot, and I mean A LOT!  Some have been doing this for years and years and have overflowing archives, I look at them and feel like a novice, which is precisely what I am.  I feel like Nemo, taken away from my little watery comfort zone and thrown into an entire ocean full of other fish bigger and better than me. 

Sure, there are other bloggers who probably write better than I do, sound wittier, create better analogies, and have stories more interesting than I could ever make up. Like Nemo, I’m scared, and I don’t quite know what to expect but I must surge on forward.  If not for the sake of remaining true to the cause of writing then atleast I have a reunion to look forward to.  I’ve always wanted to meet Dora.

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