When I was a child, my mother once spread a line of rock salt around our house. This was supposed to keep out the evil spirits. She did it on the advice of a family friend, and I have my suspicions that it was nothing but a great game to her. But for me this was a moment ripe with truth and significance. Something could be done to stand up to fear.
Now there is fear that I will not make deadlines, fear that my technique will not carry the weight, fear that I am not good enough, fear that I have started too late, fear that other people will laugh, that I don’t have anything important to say. I am surrounded.
I have no salt to ward off demons.
But I have pens, and paper, and pencils, and paintbrushes.