When I started this blog, I promised myself I wouldn’t talk marketing, and I wouldn’t publish any of my old blogs. Every story would be a new story. In fact, I threw out last year’s notebook and bought a brand-new fluorescent pink notebook. And I cracked open my new notebook, put pen to paper, and I triumphantly started writing.
One week in and that divine spirit that I was counting on to feed me next-level original prose is MIA. I’m stuck. I’ve been in it for all of five minutes, and I already have writer’s block??
My brain has gone crazy generating uncontrolled “what-ifs.” What if I can’t write an original story? What if my writing sucks? What if no one reads me? What if I’m just an imposter? What if I spontaneously catch fire?
I tell you this not to brag about my apparent lack of writing talent but because the glare of these empty pages in my weird pink notebook is how everyone starts the day. We all begin staring, point-blank, into an empty page, a bare stage, a napping computer screen. Doesn’t matter if you work in a soul-sucking corporate job or the most amazing creative job ever. Every new day is a blank page.
And here’s the fantastic thing about the proverbial blank page: we get to choose how we fill it. We decide whether we fill the blank page with conventional, expected, and safe – like an old blog that’s already been published. Or with something brave, risky, and wildly creative.
Personally, I’m praying the divine spirit swoops down and starts making out with me. But just in case, and instead of freaking out, I’m putting pen to paper, and I’m starting. I’m going to make something out of anything, even if that anything is nothing. And the first line begins like this: “Mainstream society wasn’t ready for my supreme coolness.”