In Which: The Blank Page Is Golden

Standard

I love the blank page. The blank page of a computer screen fills me with the thrill of possibility. But something happens when I see the blank page of a notebook. Is it fear or writer’s block that suddenly hits me? No, I don’t think so. My ideas are are as alive and well as they’ve ever been, and I actually do like writing longhand. So, what is it that makes starting a new blank notebook so hard to do?  Well, for me, it’s what I like to call the first page jynx.

Meaning, in a nutshell, that whatever I first write down in a notebook seems to scar all the remaining pages 70 to 200 college ruled pages forever.

It’s only a silly writer’s superstition or deep seated anxiety in my mind, I know, but those first words just stay with me.

Even if it is just a draft that later turns golden with editing, if I don’t like those first few words, the notebook in question always feels a bit less lucky. If, for example, I years ago used most of a notebooks pages for a math class I didn’t do so well in, any story I try to start on the remaining pages just feels off.

On the other hand, a notebook I write a good first sentence in is quickly filled up, and mourned long after it is gone as a lucky charm.

I’m a collector more than anything, and I always have a pile of writing notebooks waiting to be used on my sofa and under my bed.  Their covers are bright , and inside they blank pages are clean and undecided, waiting for that first mark.

Here’s to freshly sharpened pencils.

In Which : I Will Write Every Day

Standard

Plenty of people need to break habits, but I need to start one again.

Writing every day use to be so easy in school and college. I found out long ago the reasons:

1) I wasn’t suppose to be writing fiction about centaurs and fairies in Biology class.              Writing always has the thrill of danger when you’re not suppose to be doing it.                                      And, 2) 99% of classes were using the logical part of my mind right up, leaving my imagination to play in the sandbox of possibility with a pencil. Because of this half and half workload, my inner editor (as unskilled as she is, more on that later) was busy with school to, and I put down a lot more ideas on paper to find out what stuck.

Nothing was too silly or above me in my writing mind.

I need to get back to that.

Nowadays, that ‘you’re not really much good you know’ voice is very loud from the start, for no reason I can really tell but fear. Fear that my one skill I’ve  always have prided myself on  is just a fake and that I’m actually awful.

Mix that with actually having a good self esteem on the whole and it’s the weirdest feeling coming back to everyday writing.

Shh inner voice. Sh. Have a cookie.