Her eyes crossed as she stared at the words she’d written. As they blurred and came back into focus, they looked different. A minute ago they flowed so smoothly, but now they seem ugly and awkward. Highlight, delete. Highlight, delete. She wondered why the blank page had become such a familiar sight — why writer’s block always followed close on the heels of each new inspiration. She was swimming in unfinished drafts, and a few finished ones that just weren’t good enough to ship. In fact, my writing was rarely good enough to leave the safety of a Word document. It’s that cursed, chronic writer’s block! Holding me back from creating the work I constantly daydreamed about, the work that was refined, brilliant. The work that was…. perfect. It’s not just for neat freaks The word perfectionist easily conjures images of someone using Q-tips to dust tiny nooks and crannies, meticulously lining up their pencils in a perfectly straight row or feverishly hammering away at
