Staring At The Blank Page Before You Novels & Stories

“Okay, now everyone go to your notebooks and start writing.” Everyone goes back to their places, and James continues, “Write anything you want, but you are writing it to that person... the one holding you back.” I must admit that I kinda feel lost, staring at the blank page and seeing how everyone else is just scribbling away... but I can’t. I mean, I don’t know who to write to. I mean, I have people I could choose, of course... people who have no doubt held me back... but not really... and then I have... but I do not want to open that can of worms.

Then, quietly, just for me, "The blank page means something is too close. Write around it first. The real thing will find its way in." He moved on. I stared at my notebook. Then I started writing. Not about what I wanted. About the thing next to it. The thing adjacent to wanting — the specific weight of being near something you are not allowed to reach for, how it changes the way you move through a room, how you start editing yourself before you have even done anything worth editing. The words came fast after that. They always did once I found the angle. I wrote for the rest of the period without stopping.

I glared down at the empty page as if it had personally offended me. After another ten minutes of staring at nothing, I finally threw the pencil onto the desk. “Forget it,” I said aloud. Working in this mood was pointless. Maybe I just needed a distraction. I reached for my laptop and opened a streaming site. I planned to watch a movie I had seen recommended earlier. Something simple, something mindless that would help clear my head. The homepage loaded. But instead of the movie section, the screen landed on a trending entertainment page. Celebrity gossip.

The shed above gave just enough shade to make it bearable. I stared at the empty document on my phone, fingers hovering. Blank. I had no idea how to begin. As always, once I started, the words would pour in, but that beginning? Torture. I sighed and decided to work on Dom’s paper first. Mine could wait. "You can do this Sharon" I whispered to myself

* Then I sat with the blank page for a moment. Let the April morning be what it was. Let the question be a question. Some things needed the space to be questions before they became anything else. I understood this better than most people. I set the pen down. Went back to work.

The small details, the kind you never notice until you know you’re about to leave them behind. My chest tightened, but I swallowed it down. There was still one more thing to do. I walked over to the table and pulled out a sheet of paper. The sound of it tearing from the stack seemed louder than it should have been, echoing faintly in the quiet room. For a moment, I just stared at it, pen hovering above the blank space. What do you even write for something like this? My fingers tightened slightly around the pen before I forced myself to move. The words came out uneven at first, then faster, like they were trying to escape before I could change my mind. I didn’t overthink it. I couldn’t afford

The nod of a person who has received a piece of information and has registered it accurately and is now moving forward with the information in hand. She turned the page. The second page was blank the way the first page had been blank, which was entirely available, which was the gift rather than the problem. She looked at it for a moment with the quality she had brought to the first page: open, present, not-yet-knowing as the correct beginning condition. She put the pencil to the paper. She began again.

I set my pen down first and looked at the blank page for a moment. There was always a moment like this, before I wrote to her. it wasn’t hesitation, exactly. It was more like the pause before you step into water that you know is cold. You know you are going to do it. You have already decide but your body takes one beat to remember what it is walking into. Then I wrote. I didn’t greet her. She hated pleasantries. Things are not moving as quickly as I planned. She is more embedded than I expected. The brothers are…

She pointed at the image, which was titled with the first step of his list followed by a blank page, and continued. "Okay, the first thing you recommend is 'Know Yourself Before I Meet You,' and the one thing about me is that I know exactly who I am," She said, before hitting the clicker, causing some images to enter the blank page of the presentation. These pictures made his eyes grow wide.

And I started to roll my eyes and move in a circular position by standing in the same place. And suddenly, I saw an off-white-colored paper on the table. I moved forward near to the table and took this page in my hand and it was written with black ink and then I again looked at the table by moving the side of paper, which actually became hurdle for me to look on table but in the table, there is no black ink or pen. And I started to read by frying my eyebrows that there was nothing to write. But this time it did not scare me, because now I spend a long time here and there, and I do not become scared of it. And on that page, something like that: