Staring At The Blank Page Before You Novels & Stories

I stepped onto the stage, adjusted the microphone and looked out at the room. I pulled up the presentation but the large projection screen was blank. It was not even loading or buffering to call it a technical issue, it was completely, entirely blank. Just a white rectangle staring back at me while people waited in silence and the murmuring in the room began to grow.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

She looked at the blank white screen of Version Nine, the cursor flashing steadily, waiting for the body of the text to earn the six words at the end. "Yes," she said. He offered a single nod and turned back to his desk. Selene went back to her keys. Amara reached into the wax paper bag, snapped a fresh croissant cleanly in half, and slid the larger piece across the counter. Selene took it, her fingers catching the flakes. Some transitions didn't require a grand ceremony. They just required the person beside you, the blank page in front of you, and the ordinary courage to begin typing the next line.

My way of turning chaos into clarity. So one morning, after Roman left for a meeting and Isabella was down for her nap, I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and opened my laptop. The cursor blinked on a blank page, daring me to start. I typed three words. The first time. And just like that, it all began.

Look at it, just like that, then put it down on paper A shape forms before me. There’s a bloom torn away, wilting now in still liquid. A symbol sits there - too clear, almost rude. A brush finds its way into my fingers. Shaking, really - this tiny dance never stops. Not pretending here. Weakness runs through me after too many quiet hours. Water first, then the edge of the blue paint cake catches the bristles. The blank page waits, just sitting there. It's already clear what needs saying, so I leave it be.

"Or maybe I just pay closer attention than most." I feel the chill skitter down my spine again. ⸻ CAINE She doesn't know what to do with her hands. She grips the pen, releases it, grips again. The page in front of her is blank except for a nervous little spiral she pretends is writing. She can't meet my eyes for more than a heartbeat before she looks away. And every time she looks back, I'm already waiting.

That would become a problem, he would become a problem now. “No, that was not what I want. I just wanted to see everything. There are still some things that I’m not seeing. There are some blank pages in the book, I know there are because I hid them. No matter how many times I turn it around it was still blank. When I turn to the next page that’s when I knew, I’m still not seeing it all. There are still missing.” Zephyr said. The Fallen eyed him. Gauging his reaction and weighing his words. Zephyr could only wait. Every minute that passed, the pounding on his heart grew. It was a torturous wait he had experienced.

I sat down slowly, placing it beside my sketchbook without looking at it. In front of me, Ernest returned to his seat too. Karl gave me a look as she sat down beside me while I avoided her gaze by picking up my pencil, and forcing my fingers to move. To do something. Anything. A line. A shape. A distraction. But my hand didn’t cooperate and the page stayed mostly blank, because my mind wasn’t here. It was still on the call. On the words. On the part of me that had wanted to rebel and the part that had just… folded. “Continue,” Dr. Hale instructed, her tone as composed as ever. “You have twenty minutes.”

Turning in my chair, I watch the document lying next to the nearly eaten food box and sigh deeply. Well, it’s the final showdown, I guess. Linking my fingers with each other, I press my palms away from me, stretching before I start typing along, looking at different sequences of what could blow into my face tonight. I shake my head as if it would help me to free my mind from the indecent thought about something else that I would hope to have blowing up into my face. “Stupid brain,” I mutter to myself, clearing my throat as I keep typing along.

So I decided to get my mind busy, I went straight to my desk, and opened my notepad on my laptop to write. I don’t even know what I’m trying to write at first because this wasn't my usual blog post but some rough thoughts. The words just come out fast at first, trying to empty my head before it explodes. [Funny how people think they know everything when they only see half of it.] I stare at the sentence but it doesn’t feel right. Still, I keep going. [Funny how the loudest people are always the ones with nothing at stake.] Arrgghhh… What am I driving at? This isn't even helping.

Hannah stared at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen for what felt like an eternity. She’d been trying to write again, but she was just stuck. The words should’ve been flowing by now, she knew that. It didn’t use to be this hard. She used to fill pages without a second thought, scripts usually poured from her fingertips, every scene clear in her mind. But now, the blank page felt like a wall she couldn’t climb. She glanced over her shoulder at the baby monitor, partly hoping for a distraction. Anything to get her mind off the fear that was rising. The fear that she’d lost her creative touch. But then guilt crept in.