I remember that feeling of anxiety I felt at twenty. Too many essays to write and too little time:

“I don’t know where to start”.

“Just start somewhere and get out of my room” my housemate replied daily.

There are no deadlines anymore, which is problematic. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Especially when you can temporarily avoid the problem by making a lemon cake for Comic Relief. It’s not that I don’t want to get on with it; it’s simply the size of my writing dreams and fear of failure that’s the problem.

I long to write a play and a hilarious sitcom, a children’s book and a novel. But which one to work on? I have two half finished pieces on my screen right now.

Seventeen years later and I still just need to start somewhere. Just as soon as I’ve entered this competition…