I have spent over three decades writing down my ideas in notebooks, or storing them in the cloud, never being confident enough to try to do anything with them. As a consequence of my lack of bravery, I have seen films, or read books, where someone else has eventually had a very similar idea to my own. It means my chance to use this material has now been lost.
Luckily, I have some ideas left, but it does give me an extra incentive to try and push myself to make progress, to keep writing, to hope that someday people might read my stories. Even as I write this, I feel a lack of worth, but something drives me to keep trying. I may be rather late at 52 years old to begin a writing career, but part of me insists this is what I am meant to do.
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