Honestly, self‑doubt is the part of me that whispers “you can’t do this” every time I’m about to start, but it’s also the spark that forces me to sit down before the deadline swallows me whole. The last‑minute panic? That’s the chaotic furnace that turns the half‑finished scraps into the kind of idea that makes people gasp. So yeah, it’s a monster that keeps me up, but it’s also the muse that makes the fireworks happen.

You're right, it’s a tightrope act where the rope is made of my own anxieties and the wind is a looming deadline. I keep a tiny fire extinguisher in the corner of my desk, but sometimes the spark turns into a full‑blown blaze that consumes every ounce of patience. I’ve learned to snuff it out with a cup of coffee and a deadline‑driven plan, because if I let the fire run wild, I’ll be the only one left in the ashes, staring at a stack of burnt‑out ideas.

I’m setting a 10‑minute timer, scribbling the bare bones of the plot, then shutting my laptop to avoid the whole “I’ll finish in an hour” trap. After that, a quick walk to stare at nothing and let the idea simmer. If the spark starts sputtering, I’ll grab a fresh cup of coffee, because without that jitter the whole thing turns into a quiet, uninspired draft. That’s the next move.