A White Blank Page
The empty page is the scariest part of writing anything.
The blankness, just sitting there, waiting for me to fill it. It will wait all night. I know that because it so often does.
This one waited for a good ten minutes before I even typed the word 'The'.
Now its spell is broken.
But tomorrow's will probably be just as hard.
It's not that I don't have ideas: I have a headful. It's how to decide which should come first. Lots of bits of story (if this is a story) all floating around in limbo and making random connections with one another. Somehow I need to nail them all down with good solid words, and hope that a narrative will emerge...
See, and now I'm sidetracked by the memory of staring at a page in my school exercise book at the age of four and getting into such trouble for taking half an hour to write 'Peter says'. I don't remember what Peter said. But I do remember what the teacher said, and it was less than complimentary. Perhaps my writer's block is her fault.
I even had to nick the post title (it's from the fabulous Mumford & Sons track of the same name) or I'd still be staring at a white blank subject line.
Still, practice makes pervert, as they say.
I intend to keep practising...
The blankness, just sitting there, waiting for me to fill it. It will wait all night. I know that because it so often does.
This one waited for a good ten minutes before I even typed the word 'The'.
Now its spell is broken.
But tomorrow's will probably be just as hard.
It's not that I don't have ideas: I have a headful. It's how to decide which should come first. Lots of bits of story (if this is a story) all floating around in limbo and making random connections with one another. Somehow I need to nail them all down with good solid words, and hope that a narrative will emerge...
See, and now I'm sidetracked by the memory of staring at a page in my school exercise book at the age of four and getting into such trouble for taking half an hour to write 'Peter says'. I don't remember what Peter said. But I do remember what the teacher said, and it was less than complimentary. Perhaps my writer's block is her fault.
I even had to nick the post title (it's from the fabulous Mumford & Sons track of the same name) or I'd still be staring at a white blank subject line.
Still, practice makes pervert, as they say.
I intend to keep practising...