Here we are again; staring into that searing white screen, similar to an animal caught in headlights. The dire commitment I made to myself to publish something today is hanging sombrely over my head.
You see, I had this great idea to write about. An awesome, important and powerful subject; meaningful, challenging, gutsy, etc.
But because [enter excuse here], I haven’t had the
chance…balls to write it.
And then this afternoon I was given a window of opportunity; an unlikely second chance for the space and peace to write. I sit down with the laptop, breathe deeply, assume the keyboard position and then…nothing.
Heavily aware of the time ticking away at a mad pace, I am cold and speechless.
Creative block. Writer’s shame. That crippling, systematic barrier between empty thoughts and brilliant ideas. Where once there stood a grand and daring concept, there is now ash and vanity; blank stupidity, kind of like a hangover, where one is left to wallow in the rubble of their own confusion.
And then somehow, the prospect of writing nothing at all grows altogether more fearsome. Being defeated by the blank page is far worse than polluting it with scribbles, or any one of those empty thoughts.
So I am writing this because something is better than nothing. I can always try again for that big one tomorrow.