I once dreamt that I was lying on a stage, singing. I think I was naked.
I had crept up onto the stage and, thinking I was alone and it was safe, I had laid down at the front of the stage, with a microphone in one hand, and sung.
I don’t know what I sang but I know I sang for quite a while, revelling in hearing my voice loud and clear.
Then I realised, with horror, that I wasn’t alone. An audience was out there in the darkness and they had been watching me the whole time; judging; staring; laughing.
I woke up in a cold sweat, shaken.
I have never forgotten that dream or the pure terror of being seen.
I think writing is like lying on a stage, naked, singing.
When you expose your song, you run the risk of it being judged.
That’s why so many of us are paralysed by the sight of a blank page.