Many years ago, I had ambitions of being an artist. Thanks to my work situation at the time, I developed a drawing style with ballpoint pen on rough, recycled paper. These drawings were extremely and increasingly detailed and intricate, demanding that I get ever more accurate and pernickety in completing them. I suppose it was inevitable that I would eventually reach a position where a drawing I had begun was so perfect that I was afraid to continue it for fear of ruining it. The materials I had chosen allowed no possibility of erasing and trying again - it was get it right first time or throw it away.
I kept that last drawing for years, looking at it often but never daring to believe I could complete its promise. And, as it happened, I was close to giving up on the visual arts since I was better at writing anyway. Fear was just one of many reasons for my decision to concentrate on writing.
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