There's come several times working up the outline for my script that I've wondered about my subject material.
I believe in the premise. I believe in the overall theme and idea I'm trying to convey. I believe in the characters, and the story, but . . . there's nagging things. Is what I'm writing about too silly? Too stale? Too broad? Too niche? Too hot, too cold, too hard, too soft . . . stop me before I get a little blonde-haired rugrat eating my porridge.
It's fear, to be sure. Something about the act of writing is weirdly embarrassing. It's like public speaking, except you usually aren't there to hear the reactions. You don't know if they love you or if they're jeering. The feedback is anything but immediate, and unless you're one of the rare folks writing with a partner you're all alone out there. You have nothing but your own good sense and taste to judge what you've written.
Trust me, I'm well aware I'm at a considerable disadvantage there.
Moreover, it's wondering if it'll all work. For me, it works in my head. I can see most of the scenes already. I've even cast the roles with my friends in mind, just to give me guidelines on how these people should sound, what their limits and lack thereof should be, etc. But just because it works for me doesn't mean it'll work for you. Oddly, that same sentiment could apply to most religious wars . . .
It's a gamble. You're rolling the dice on the story you're telling. Are you coming up with something people will find innovative? I'm reminded of being at summer camp, and how many dozens of fireside variations I've heard of "the hitchhiker with a hook." But there's always been at least one guy who knows how to tell the definitive, shit-your-pants-and-your-friend's-pants-too version. There are no new stories, only different permutations.
That's the rub: finding a combination that's fresh. It has to be something that works, not just for you but for just about everyone. It's not about the grandest, the biggest, the loudest. It's just about making it right.