It’s monkey time again. 

Seems that the little beast of self-doubt is never truly vanquished. 

Some echoes never fade, and his grip holds as tight as it ever did.

Self-affirmation can only take you so far, chanted mantras can only do so much.

The elephant it remains.

Art isn’t its own reward, Dorian Gray the only painting designed to be hidden, everything else needs to be seen, cries out into the night for daylight to caress its canvas and oil.

Written words are as impassioned as those masterful brush strokes.

Phrases clever and coy jostle with emotion raw and honest for a caring eye to save them from obscurity.

They are patient, but what they have isn’t inexhaustible, action needs to be taken, screams to be taken!

Your work may indeed fall flat, but it still wants its day in court, it still needs to plead its case.

So, the monkey of self-doubt rides my back, while the elephant in the room shares that deadpan expression, it knows the obvious.

Publish.

Publish and be dammed.

Publish and let the tiles fall where they will.

I could very well be that pretentious prick in the café with the cold coffee letting everyone know that he’s writing a novel…

But this struggle is real, and it keeps me awake at night.

Is my best version good enough? 

First world problems of the safe and the well fed.

My only risk is my ego; not my house, not my life – yet still I dither…

Stay safe – keep sane and as ever thanks for listening!