When you’re a writer, the blank page can be many things to you. It can be your best friend, your most trusted confidant on which you spill everything in perfect prose or in first grade style sentences. It doesn’t care, as long as you fill it. The blank page can be a new beginning, a fresh ending, or a life raft in the middle of excess. The blank page, however, can also be your worst nightmare. It stares at you, mocking, taunting you to fill it when it knows you cannot. Its stark whiteness shocks your eyes; you can’t stand one more moment looking at it, so fresh, so pristine, so judgmental. It becomes an object of torture, along with its co-conspirator, the pen. For days it can stare at you, unsullied and brilliant, just waiting for your words. During these times you write and cross out and write and cross out or type and highlight and hit “delete” more times than you care to admit.
Maybe the blank page is deeper than we think. Possibly, we don’t give it enough credit, we just write it off as friend or foe during certain times. What if, however, the blank page is really there as our biggest inspiration? It should represent freedom, a place where our good thoughts can go and mix with others, and where bad thoughts can scream so loudly, they leave all of the emotion right there on the pages, freeing us from their chains. Maybe on the days that nothing comes to mind, we should simply write the word “nothing” until it clears out and morphs into something. This, perhaps, is wishful thinking for most of us, I know. So, maybe on the days that nothing comes to mind, the blank page is just there to remind us that we are human; that sometimes our mind is blocked and we want to relinquish it to a book or T.V. until we are feeling creative again.
I know this should be summed up in a neat little bow that inspires writing, but is that reality? Most times, life does not get wrapped up in a neat little bow; instead it causes us a flow of emotions, all of which remind us of what it is to be human. Why should writing be any different?
(FINE, it was an uninspired ending, but hello! In case you didn’t get it, the blank page is mocking me, my friend, mocking me!!!)
The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov