The worst thing that could happen if I write, is that I could be hunted down by a group of vigilantes, carried to a temple and put in a hole where my skin in then cut off with razor blades.
Another diabolical thing that could happen if I write is that an invisible cabal of powerful, wealthy media professionals could easily, quietly, ensure that my work is ridiculed and dismissed before it is given a fair hearing by the wider public.
Or I could become so introspective, unsupported and undermined all at once that I would discover I truly do not know why I am here, or what is the point, or how my being alive differs from my being dead, in relation to the rest of the world, and so decide to stop all thoughts by wading into a river.
Another terrible thing that could happen if I write is that I would become more microscopically aware of the enormity of the structural obstacles to reducing and removing the structural injustices which ruin us, compared to the impact of just about anything I might ever be able to do, until I lose faith in ‘progress’ and ‘change’ and just walk into the sea.
I needn’t worry about these things happening to me though because they only happen to famous, talented people. Also, there are many far worse things that could happen if I write, that I haven’t even heard or thought of for chrissakes.
It is quite possible that people will laugh at what I write, even if it is not meant to be funny. It’s also possible that I’ll write dry, sarcastic jokes, and people will miss them and totally misinterpret my work. That wouldn’t be my fault! It’s also possible that I’ll write something so ridiculously wrong that it will be lambasted and eclipse and outlive anything sensible and decent I write. It’s also possible that I’ll write and write and write and then one day look back in shock to see I’ve missed out on the things I always wanted to say. I could pick up a book by someone else one day, and think, fuck, I was going to start writing this twenty years ago, and I never did.
Another terrifying thing that could happen if I write is that no-one will like what I write at all, or that a huge number of people will dislike it and a tiny number will like it (or pretend to, to be friendly). It’s quite possible that any public writing could be trolled, the emotional impact of which outweighs the felt benefit of any positive engagement. It’s also possible that there is a completely indifferent response to what I write so that I am suddenly face to face with myself, realising that my rage, my inquiry, my obsessions, my instincts, my convictions, all boil down to one painfully obvious piece of common sense which everyone else already knows. I guess if that’s the case, it would be good to find out what it is, sooner rather than later.