One of my worst afflictions is perfectionism coupled with a fear of failure. This bears particular weight when it comes to what could broadly be termed 'artistic expression.'

I recently wrote a poem entitled "on why I don't write (for public consumption)" which expresses these fears. While I have a great memory when it comes to situations and things other people have said, I am lame at remembering, or completing, artistic endeavours I have started. The result: a 26-track mindisc of songs begun, but never finished; journals and stray sheets of paper strewn throughout my room. Each of these represents a moment of inspiration that I failed to follow through.

Today I found the following, entirely imperfect, start to a short story. I don't remember writing it, and, but for the handwriting and that I discovered it in my bedroom, I might have thought it someone elses'. Nevertheless, it is mine.

While I may be terrified of failure and gripped by utter perfectionism I'm aware that until I begin to take risks and put my work 'out there' I will not improve. I remember grappling with Dylan Thomas' In My Craft or Sullen Art while in school, asking "was poetry just something he was born with, or did he have to work at it?" (the basic first question in the writer's own mind).

I'm not asking you to compare me with Thomas (please don't) but I do want to make space for taking a deep breath and exposing my writings in the hope the I might someday improve. So here goes...

(more to follow...)