The Fear

It was always a blank page, that was the problem. Marc would stare at it for hours on end. It wasn't that he lacked ideas - he always knew exactly what he wanted to say. Nor was it that he lacked the ability to say it. His problem was that he wasn't under pressure.

In school, Marc was a gifted student. Not much above average, but that he was above failing at all was a sure sign of his gift. He never put the slightest effort into learning. He graduated with just-above-average grades and went on to a university course in journalism, which is where things got harder. His lack of motivation caused him to struggle at first - that was when his gift really began to shine. Deciding that forcing himself to work was easier than failing, he bullied himself into actually studying sometimes, and despite the chasm that hung between his knowledge and the required material, he came out of each year with -typically- slightly above average results. His gift was an intellect that was wasted on him. In particular, his ability to write like a man who knew everything, even if in the conventional sense, he didn't know shit.

Marc understood people. That was why he was staring at a page, desperate to create some. Words were his way of exploring people. In education, he explored other people with his own pages - he wrote what they wanted, he mused about their questions in as many paragraphs as it took to reach a conclusion, or won them to his cause by stating their own beliefs with a conviction they couldn't help but give a C or a B grade to. But now it wasn't that simple. Now he had nobody to please and nobody whose ego would reward him should he aid in its inflation. He had only himself. And the blank page.

Its blankness was incessant. He tried writing any old words that came to mind, but they weren't the introduction he was hoping for, so he had to start over. Then he tried doodling, hoping that once the ink was flowing the words would run too, but he hated the idea of starting something special on a messy sheet, so he started a third time. This one remained blank. And remained blank. And remained blank. Eventually Marc got bored and put the page aside. It didn't need his help staying blank, after all.

Marc's problem wasn't that he lacked ideas or skills. It was that he knew he was gifted. He knew what he was capable of, and thus anything short of that was a failure in his heart. And it was easier to fail by choice than by bad luck, or worse - bad writing.