Because I have to remind myself it's not my actual job to review movies for y'all

I'm working on a short story that scares the giblets out of me. It involves no safety net. It is not funny, not satirical, it has no zombies or robots or hot sex or violence, and it desires to be taken seriously. The language desires to be beautiful. I think I'm pretty good at this whole scratching-on-stone-tablets thing, but to be honest, most of the time I'm noodling, and I'm very aware of it. That may be enough to get me through some daily snark or a jokey script, but it will not suffice for this.

That makes progress much slower and more frustrating, at first. I know how many words I CAN produce at a sitting, and by that simple math I could have this story by dinner tomorrow. I won't. Every sentence must be deliberate, specific, useful, and (hopefully) a little lovely. That's a far different process than what I'm usually doing here, just beating the keys to try and keep up with the whizzing around in my brain.

But what helps is that I can see how it is good for me; to be slow, and measured, to apply real consciousness to each sentence as a unit before I type. Once that notion has broken through the manic static, it soothes, even strengthens. It is writing-while-awake. It is also writing-with-everything-you've-got, and I bet that's what really frightens. Once I unveil that, what about my capabilities is mysterious?

What's most frightening - I sense a chance that this story could be good. I just have to not let it down.