I just learned you existed yesterday. Well, I learned you are a thing with a name, which also means there must be countless other people out there who struggle with you.

Fear of better options–you make me keep switching POV in my stories. You make me abandon entire drafts to work on that fresh new idea. You make it impossible for me to get a single word written until I’ve mad a list of writing goals for the day, because–hey, when there are so many possibilities–why not start by making a sandwich?

FOBO, you have the best of intentions. You come from this desire to make great art, to make that art better and better. But you keep me from hanging out in the now, struggling through the problems and rough patches of a project.

Hey–Can we make a deal?

When I set my writing timer, could you go hang out somewhere else?

Because when I’m in it, I want to be in it. While I might decide later to make some important change to the narrative, I have to be in it first, follow it from start to finish.

So, I’m setting my timer. Go play somewhere else for a while.

Respectfully,

Liz