A blank white page with a flashing cursor.
All of your best pieces started the same way. Okay, your worst too. You’re not a writer if you aren’t writing. Just a pretender. Write something, anything.
Pedancy. It’s not a word. Someone asked me the other day and I just typed it out to check. It’s not a word. I am a pedant. A perfectionist, but that sounds arrogant. I always thought it was a good quality but recently I am not so sure. It has made me proud of my writing in the past. But now it’s the reason why I’m not writing. And I mean really writing. I have been churning out essays of course. Churning is not the right word. It implies fluidity. Grinding is the word. There is no flow. My essays are not written; they are rewritten. Sentences survive seconds. Commas are placed and then removed. The experience is painstaking. Hours of typing sees my word-count decrease. I’m getting the grades. But is that enough? The final product is satisfactory. But the process isn’t. Let yourself write an awful first draft. That’s textbook creative writing advice right there. I can’t do it. This isn’t to say my first drafts are any good. I mean I can’t do first drafts. I can never start on the first sentence and reach the last without rewriting those in-between. I never really plan anymore, maybe that’s my issue. Do plans really drain your creative flow? Planning when I don’t have one can’t hurt. I have a plan: I’ll plan my next piece.
The blank white page is not as blank. No rewriting. Kerouacian spontaneous prose (even with background jazz for inspiration). A writer is someone who writes. Present tense.
Today, I am a writer of 300 words.