Writing, part 2: The “blank page” stage

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I’ve taken a while to get back to this subject because I wanted to think very carefully about what to say. Which means I’ve been staring at a blank page for a while.

This is NOT where all writing begins. It is, unfortunately, where some writing dreams end.

You have an idea for a story. Something beautiful is unfolding in your mind; you can practically see this story, as though it’s a movie. Maybe you’ve been thinking about it for so long your characters feel like real people, down to details that will never make it into your book. (Your heroine hates vanilla ice cream. Your hero loves it. Conflict!)

Your story is so vivid that you’re finally ready to put it down on paper–or, if you’re not being old-fashioned, on your computer. You get your notebook or your Netbook out, you get to a blank page, and…

It’s just so blank. And so, suddenly, are you.

Those first words are hard to get down. Not because you have to choose the right words; that comes later. It’s usually because you’ve finally committed to your project, and that means the boogeymen found their way out of the closet. Shoot. (I don’t mean “shoot” as in “darn.” I mean, shoot them.)

If, on the road to writing, you find yourself blocked, you need to take action. Now. I approach everything I do today as an insurance policy against future regret. I can’t think of much that’s worse for a creative person–and we’re ALL creative–than the three horsemen of the creative apocalypse: Shoulda, Woulda, and Coulda. (They’re in cahoots with the boogeymen who keep the page blank.)

I’m no writing coach. I’m a person who’s had the wonderful opportunity to write several books and see some of them get published. I hope to do that again soon. The only way I can do it is to be unblocked. And the only way I know of to do that is by working the program outlined in The Artist’s Way.

I’ve written about The Artist’s Way before, and I’ll write about it again and probably again because I love it so much. I love it and I hate it; it makes me clear the clutter from my mind, let go of ideas I’ve held on to that no longer serve me and that keep me from making dreams become reality. That’s tough. This work is not for the weak of knee.

I’d rather do this hard work, this emotional heavy lifting, than to one day say I should have, I could have, I would have, I wish I had.

This is trite but true: Life is short. Too short to say you don’t have time to do the things your heart is begging you to do. You don’t know how long I wanted to write Cherries in Winter before I actually did. But when I realized that there are only so many “someday”s left, I took the time to write it, and I fought for the time like a crazed tigress–there was a night that I was stirring spaghetti sauce and writing at the same time. I wrote before my husband got up in the morning, after he left for work, and after he went to sleep at night. I got past all the boogeymen and I wrote because I had to.

And I’m no different or better than you, or anyone else.

If you’re staring at a blank page, or if you haven’t even gotten to the blank page stage yet, get yourself a copy of The Artist’s Way. Don’t just read through it; do the exercises. They will get you writing, which, if you want to write, is kind of important. But this writing is like an exorcism that banishes boogeymen and horsemen and anyone else who says you can’t.

You can.

Next post: What you can do when you’re ready to go to the next level.

xx,

S

Thanks to Pink Sherbet for the photo.