I want to start by showing you a short video…
OK, you’re thinking “So what? That’s a collie running up and down a country footpath. Yes, he’s quite cute, and yeah maybe he has quite a turn of speed. And?”
The ‘and’ is that this dog is blind. He had one eye removed as a pup and, whilst it’s possible he may have a slight awareness of light and shade in the remaining eye, he can’t see any detail. He’s spent a lot of his young life running into walls/stinging nettles/hedges/people’s legs etc. But does he care? Nope. Is he anxious and fearful? Nope. Does he go extra-cautious because of his disability? Well, as you can clearly see – no he doesn’t. He knows this particular path like the back of his paw, and he runs down it every day.
Being a dog, I guess he doesn’t know he ought to be able to see. I guess he doesn’t compare himself with other dogs and wish he was as lucky as them. He probably doesn’t much worry about what might happen if he runs down a path he doesn’t know, or crashes into another dog coming the other way. He just loves running, so he runs.
As people, we’re often over analytical. We worry about whether we’re doing something right, whether other people are judging us. As writers, our inner editor is always there, telling us to go back and unpick, saying that clunky sentence has got to go, in fact sometimes stopping us before we get started. That editor is a great asset at the end of the first draft – but we need to be able to ignore it sometimes just to get the words on the page.
Sometimes we need to be more dog! 😉