Staring At The Blank Page Before You Novels & Stories

I didn’t mean to be caught- But I must say something. I know this. Otherwise, it would seem rude. But what do I say? I’m struggling. My mind is no help- it’s blank like paper. And now I feel the panic up in my throat. I must say something! Say anything, please! I’m pleading to myself as my skin grows prickly and hot. Anything is better than nothing! I open my mouth as I feel words pour up my tongue. “I- I wasn’t staring. I-” I quickly cover my mouth.

The question sat between them in the back seat with the specific presence of something that had taken up residency and was not leaving — not demanding anything, not requiring a response, simply there, the way the important things were simply there, patient and heavy and fully real. She thought about ten days. She thought about the blank page that morning, the doorway she had drawn in it, the ghost of the shape that had been in it. She thought about the pen touching the page before she'd known what she was going to draw. The first mark, before the correction arrived. She thought about what she had told Simone. How do you know when it's finished. When you can look at it and you're not afraid o

"You're doing it again." "Doing what?" "Deciding the answer before you've even considered your own opinion." I fell silent. He pointed toward my notebook. "Write something." I opened it. "What?" "Something you're good at." I stared at the blank page. Nothing came to mind. "Maria." "I don't know." "That's okay." He waited. I thought harder. "I listen." "Good." I wrote it down. I listen. "Another." "I..." I paused. "I remember things."

I sat down, picked up the quill and stared at the empty sheet. My mind was completely blank. I didn’t even know what to write. I stared at the blank sheet for a few seconds before forcing myself to concentrate. I had no idea what kind of speech Cassian wanted, but I couldn't afford to waste any more time. I dipped the quill into the ink and began writing. The words came slowly at first, but once I got into it, my hand moved faster. It was at that moment the books he had given me to write about came in handy.

I opened it, and the blank page waiting for me felt almost… patient. Like it knew I’d come back eventually. My hand trembled as I picked up the pen. I stared at the page for a long time before writing. I left. The words looked heavier written down. I swallowed and kept going. I don’t know if I ran away… or saved myself. My vision blurred slightly. Maybe both. A tear dropped onto the paper before I could stop it. I wiped it quickly, annoyed with myself. “I’m not crying,” I muttered. But my voice shook.

She had work to do. She stared at her blank computer screen. Her fingers hovered over the keys, poised and ready. Yet her mind drew a blank. She would type a few words to begin, but quickly delete it. Nothing was sitting right, and this first draft was due in a matter of a few weeks. Her manager would call her soon for an update, and if she couldn't give her one, she might as well kiss her career goodbye. She glanced at the clock tucked away in the screen's corner. 9:30 PM

Work. School. Productivity. Things I understand. Things that don’t randomly kiss me in bars or show up at coffee shops and make my heart forget how to function. “Okay,” I tell myself firmly. “Paper.” I open the document. The blank page stares back at me. For three whole seconds, I feel optimistic. Then my brain betrays me. Cole. Logan. Cole. Logan. I slam the laptop shut. “Oh my God.” I drop my forehead onto the table.

"And in every single one of them you still ran across campus and sat next to me." The pen stopped clicking. "So tell me," he said. "Which part of that suggests nothing matters." He picked his book back up. Opened it. Turned a page. I sat there. Staring at my notebook. The blank page. The date I had underlined twice. My face was doing something I had absolutely no control over and I was very glad Zarian was looking at his book right now and not at me. I clicked my pen. Wrote nothing. My phone buzzed on the table.

I loved being more practical. I stared at my blank page, tapping the pen against it. I had no clue what to write about. The instructions were to write a short story of one thousand words. I didn't want it to feel forced. I looked up at Crislynn who was writing away. I let out a heavy sigh and then I looked down at my blank page again.

Unlock it, and the empty pages shall be filled for you to read. I stare at the words for a long time. Read them again. And again. “What does that even mean,” I mutter under my breath. Within me. Unlock it. Empty pages. I flip to the next page. Blank. The one after that. Blank. I start flipping faster now. Page after page after page, all clean, untouched, mocking me with their silence. No hidden ink. No symbols. No diagrams. Nothing. Just white paper. My grip tightens on the book until my knuckles ache.