New Fragments Emerge

This class, English 2261, confronts me with a babushka doll.  On one level, I am confronting more directly the possibility of becoming a writer.  I can either give it my all, or pull back, doing instead something safe.  I am driven to write more, yet paralyzed by the pressure to give up.  At the root of this tension is the real issue with being a writer: is that incarnation of me worthy enough to come alive again for?  Or will this increasingly crippling depression consume hope for a fulfilling life?  And within even those questions is the more important issue of my faith.  I will either become stronger because of it or in spite of it.