There was this writer whom I like (and was trying to emulate) who thought that I was being disrespectful.
It was, I think, because I hated word counts. And I said so. Kinda loudly. Right in this writer’s very face.
A confession: yes, I hate word counts. Which is probably why I am never going to be a professional writer. (But you can be another kind of professional, my slut-girl persona just chimed in. You are already a professional, the PRC said so, therefore ignore the slut, my good girl persona interjects. OMG, I think I need a therapist!)
Hatred may be an inaccurate word, though. I am afraid of word counts. I did say somewhere in this blog that I am a big coward, didn’t I? The thought of regurgitating a thousand nouns, pronouns, not to mention, adjectives and adverbs, makes me want to cover my face with my blanket and hide under the bed. Which is maybe weird, because I did say that I love words! So how in the world does one, who purportedly love words , turn out to be such a ninny in counting them.
It’s not the counting them that makes me break into hives — it’s the staring at a blank sheet of paper or at a blank computer screen with a blinking cursor. They are two of the scariest things in the world.
Another confession: I never watch horror movies. This exasperates G. I watched “The Ring” once in my apartment with him; and we ended up making out because I would bury my face inside his shirt whenever Sadako’s face appeared on the screen.
Have I also mentioned that my being a ninny has brought me into trouble more times than I can count in one hand?
So back to counting words, which is what this post is all about. Getting over a phobia is not that easy. My bestfriend, Wikipedia, suggests hypnotherapy. I tried going to a hypnosis lecture about 2 years ago and the lecturer did say that for some people who have deep-seated fears, the journey to courage does take some time.
I am not a Gryffindor. I can never be the type who would go out of her way to search for horcruxes. I’d rather stay in Hogwarts and write dissident articles against Snape while shitting in my pants the whole time I am doing so.
How does one acquire courage?
Once upon a time, a 17-year old girl wrote this, plaintively, in her diary — Dear soulmate: will I ever have the guts to be with you once we’ve gone beyond hi & hello?
So I am asking this now: Blank Page, will I ever have the fortitude to just sit down and hammer in the thousand words to make this post complete?
(471 words and that include the 2-word title. The answer my dear, Blank Page says, is “probably not”)