Right now my anxiety is making a noise. it’s a high-pitched whining sound that could, if properly channelled, slice through steel. I could, if I were so inclined, stretch out this metaphor beyond the limits of its tensile strength. I could draw comparisons between the aforementioned steel and reason. I could even go on to the attribute the alloying elements contained within to a myriad of different emotional qualities and or foibles. But the anxiety has robbed me of much of my desire to sit down and have a real and proper think about things and/or stuff. I think it’s safe to say that I am now deep within the grip of “The Fear.“
But what, you might be wondering, is the source of The Fear. That is a question I for once have an answer to, though I’m not sure if knowing the source makes this any better than the occasional nameless feeling of dread that cloaks my addled brain. The source is simple. At approximately the same time as this post hits the seething cauldron of words that is the internet, my latest writing project starts. Today is the day that The Life and Times of a Working Barbarian goes live.
The Working Barbarian is a nostalgic throwback to the Chose Your Own Adventure books of my youth. (The concept and goal of the project is covered in a lot more detail on the site itself.) The idea in one form or another has been rattling around inside the cavernous nothingness of my head since probably 2005 or 2006. It was only in June of last year that it crystallised into a form that I thought I might be able to run with. Then it took me almost a whole year to get my shit together and put the thing on the internet. The rag-tag band of misfits I roped into helping me out with this project have been patient beyond the realm of human understanding. Probably because they thought I’d never actually get round to doing it.
My fear derives from the worry that after all this waiting and putting it off it might not be any good, people might hate it, and then by extension hate me for inflicting such rancid dross on their innocent eyes. So just standard writer worries really. It’s probably a misplaced concern, but it still gnaws away at me
Regardless, I am now committed. It’s out there now for all to see, there’s no going back, there’s no undo. So all I can really do is hitch up my trousers and run screaming and flailing my arms right into the fray. Because if correctly channelled blind, pant-shitting terror is almost completely indistinguishable from confidence, bravado and bravery.
So please check out The Life and Times of a Working Barbarian for roughly bi-weekly, pulp style barbarian adventures. The inaugural story post will have you, the viewing public, decided upon who the hero of the story is. So even if you only ever look at the site once, make it this week so that your decision echoes on down through the ages. Or something like that.
April 15th, 2013 at 12:02 pm
[…] Last week saw me more or less soiling myself with abject artistic terror. I’d just started a new project and was somewhat concerned as to what its reception would be. This fear however seems to have been largely unfounded. The fear is dead. I killed it. My hands are slicked with its horror-blood, my shirt stained with its nightmare-fluids and my boots caked with lumps of its panic-offal. So yeah. That’s a weight off my mind. […]