I never finish anything.

Including, but not limited to, this post.

I go through ideas like paper cups. One day I’ll work on a screenplay. Or a piece about how Uber is bad for the economy. Or an article about the harmful effects of rape culture. Or a different screenplay. I’ve even considered starting my own editorial publication. I have tens of, if not over a hundred, false starts. I have started and subsequently abandoned 5 different blogs.

I try to finish ideas. I always come back to them. I wrote the first 25 pages of a screenplay before “giving it space” for a week. But when I returned — nothing. I hit a wall. I just stared hollow-eyed at the glowing screen of my laptop. My mouth taught. My brows furrowed. I was frustrated. I asked myself, “What happens next?” over and over. And I feel like that’s what’s happening in real life. I’m staring hollow-eyed at reality asking, “What happens next?”

I’m scared to suck. I’m scared to fuck up, to fail. Scared to write 120 pages only to tear it up and start over. And start over. And start over. Until I’m left standing, furious, with a landscape of ripped up pages as the only thing to show for my efforts.

Of course, here I am with about the same thing. Instead of 120 torn finished pages, I’m surrounded by 120 half-baked ideas. And which is better in the end?

I’ll finish something and get back to you.