Have you ever stared at a blank page, its whiteness almost blinding?
I’ve been there, tea in hand, (followed by three coffees), heart thumping with anticipation (and the caffeine overload) and a smidgen of dread.
I used to feel like this. Sometimes I still do. Every writer does. Then the questions start.
How do I fill this? Where will the ideas come from? What was the idea I had just as I was falling asleep?
But here’s something I’ve learnt and, like most things in life, it comes down to what we can control and what we can’t:
When I have those moments of overwhelm or doubt or stare into an abyss of nothingness, I reframe it. Instead, it becomes a canvas. Unmarked. Clean. And waiting patiently. Think of your favourite authors. They, too, had those moments. And, this I find most comforting… our favourite stories began on a blank page.
So next time we sit down to write, poised to pen our thoughts, craft our characters, we should remind ourselves that this is our world and we can fill it however we choose. It is a playful thing. A sandbox to be dived into. A beach with no footprints. A world to be painted.
How lucky are we?
Keep writing and cherish those fresh page moments.