"Is my idea unique enough?"
"What if it's all been said before?"
"What if no one 'gets' what I'm trying to say?"
These ideas and more run constant circles around my brain. They have prevented me from writing, they push me to write, and they give me a headache with all the shoving and fighting. After writing those phrases, another one popped into my head and it just may be the most profound writing advice I've ever heard:
Seriously. It doesn't matter, does it? You have this idea, a glimmer of something wonderful. You start jotting it on a spare napkin on the steering wheel while trying to navigate afternoon traffic (because we all know great ideas NEVER come at opportune times). You chisel out characters and get a plot. It's wonderful! It's fantastic!
The inner critic. Ah, that nasty little weasel. Just when you thought you'd make it through to Chapter 16 without a NaNoWriMo deadline The Critic appears. "It's been done before," he says. "No one is going to understand that. Heck, YOU don't even understand that!"
Your story is just that, YOURS. It came to you, chose you, and you, being the good writer that you are, must write it. Yes. MUST. Does it matter if it's good enough? No. Does it matter if it's so profound that trumpets will blast from Glory Beyond to all who read it? Nope. What matters is much, much more simple:
Do you love it?
This idea, is it all consuming? Does it wrap it's greasy little hands around your waste and force you to drag it everywhere? To the grocery store? The laundry room? The water cooler at work? Are you sitting at Starbucks imagining the barista as your villain? IS that really Classic Syrup she's putting in that latte?
Editing will come. Trusted friends and colleagues will read it and offer advice. You will have to kill the proverbial darlings (perhaps even the Barista of Doom.) But right now the idea is what matters. Flesh it out. Get it on paper, on screen, on a thousand and fifteen little blue Post-it Notes stuck to the bathroom mirror. However you write, get it written. You can get it right later.
Oh, and if the barista really IS an evil villain lacing a latte with arsenic disguised as Classic Syrup, take it gladly and give it to your critic. Revel in his slow, agonizing death. Throw a fiesta then get back to writing.