Writingphobia

I am afraid of writing; but not as much as Jacques Derrida. I am afraid that I will pour out a little of my heart and soul into a paper, and I will get rejected. It is a candle-snuffing feeling, as if a balloon full of air is popped. But when I feel like I am judged what I should be judged, I always know when I do not write a great paper, I am elated. When I am writing for my future self, however, I am never scared. I rush to put pen to paper, I rush to commit my thoughts and experiences to immortality, I rush to keep every detail in order. I know I will accurately judge myself, that I will be kind and thoughtful, that my reader will understand even if I do not make sense. Jacques Derrida does not have this warm feeling about writing. He knows that the reactions to his favorite form of writing could be disgust and rage. He is walking into the unknown, blindfolded, and danger lurks in every shadow. In the night, this thought forces itself upon him, and he is paralyzed until the part of his conscience that channels the views of society is dulled.