And I haven't thrown it away. Because it's OK writing, I think. So I'll keep it, and see where it goes.
This is the first time I've ever started on anything substantive, and have actually kept it. The truth is, I'm afraid. I'm not sure what of. Oh, who am I fooling? Of course I know: I'm scared to death of finishing, and then looking back over the work and finding that it's terrible.
Perhaps I don't have it in me; I wouldn't be surprised. But I've learned something: the pain of not knowing is just as bad as (or worse than) the pain of the worst possible outcome. Because in not knowing, you're accepting that worst possible outcome as part of your future reality, but without having even fought the fight.
I refuse to accept failure without having tried. So, I try.
And, perhaps, in committing to the effort, I'll pour as much of me as I must to ensure it's a success.
At the wall in every facility owned by the company I work for is a plaque. On that plaque is the following quote:
Until one is committed there is the chance to draw back; always ineffectiveness.
Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too.
All sorts of things occur to help one that would not otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man would have dreamed would come his way.
I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets:"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it! Boldness has genius, magic, and power in it."
W. H. Murray
and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
So I begin. And I commit myself, wholly and irrevocably, to this dream. And trust that the rest of Murray's predictions prove true.