When the task feels both large and uncertain, just beginning can be the most time-consuming part—not the actual first word on the page, but the resistance that precedes the first word.
Sometimes I find myself circling, rather than diving in. A bit like a vulture, one who worries (rather than hopes) that my prey is already dead, unrevivable.
I try to remind myself that this circling happens every time. It is less the circling of a scavenger or predator, and more the predictable circling of the earth, the seasons. If I don’t panic, if I don’t insist I am a fraud, the circling will eventually tighten until I set down the first letters on the page. It happens every time. No need to panic when the circling begins again.