To us as writers, there is nothing so simultaneously frightening and exciting as a blank page.
I have spent hours staring mute and empty at a white page, usually with a cursor blinking its subtle taunt in a vain attempt to spur me into action.
Yet I can also be found perusing the blank journal section at Barnes & Noble, eagerly paging through heavy brown books, sniffing the paper and dreaming of endless possibilities.
In fact, sometimes it is the possibility itself that is most exciting. If I etch something on that paper, the quantum state is broken.
Once I begin to actually write, I am limiting the story with every word; the uncertainties fall away as the story forms.
What if I don’t like what I’ve created?
I can throw away my work or alter it, but to what extent am I betraying myself then?
I must determine if it is worth the energy.
Whether I am satisfied with my efforts or not, with no effort comes no result.
I desire to share myself with others; in return I hope to know them through their works.
Our perspective is formed by the way we respond to every event in which we take part.
One of the greatest joys I’ve found is gaining deeper understanding of another human’s perspective of our shared reality.
It is a frightening thing; I never know what I’ll learn. But loneliness is worse than the alternative.
It’s Not Blank Anymore © 2014 by Munroe Wood