Blank Page

There is a common misnomer that a writer's greatest fear is a blank page. There is some truth to it, but they don't understand the fear itself.

It's not from the daunting task of filling the page, or even the uncertainty of what to place upon that page. It's the reason writers get excited about something as mundane or silly as new stationary supplies.

It's because that blank page represents the limitless potential of what we could put down upon that page. That mixed with the limited time we have to place text upon said page means that we have to sift through all the potential floating around in our heads and decide what will actually see the light of day.

It's a daunting task because of the sheer responsibility of it all. And not to you, or the publisher or the editor but to the unspoken connection and agreement between writers and that other place where all of these stories and ideas and potentialities emerge from. It's a place seldom spoken of by writers, but we all know its there, and no, none of us truly understand it. Thus the magic. Thus the responsibility. Thus the fear that we're perhaps going to make the wrong choice somehow. Maybe.

But so too comes the excitement of what might be, of what will be, and the quiet reflection and joy of a job well finished. It's not the accolades of the athlete or politician who's victory is cheered in the streets and stadiums. It's not even the adulation some few of us receive that manage to cultivate a following.

It's that quiet moment in a room alone when set down the pen, when we hit save for the final time and smile, knowing that this particular journey is finally finished.

And then it's on the next one...