Blank Pages

Every day he woke up to write. Every day he stared at the same blank screen, the blinking cursor taunting him from the upper left hand corner. There was a title at the top that he changed every day at least three times. Today there was not even a title. Today there was only menacing empty space. He was supposed to fill that space with letters that would become words, words that would become sentences, sentences that would fit together in meaningful fashion and somehow become something much more than just letters, words, and sentences. It felt impossible, as if the summit of Mount Everest rose from the fog before him and he was expected to make the summit before nightfall. Anything less than the summit would feel like failure. He stared into his cup of coffee, joyous and dark and bitterly evil. He took a deep gulp, wincing as his glasses fogged, and then wiped them clean to have a better view of the blank page. He knew that even if the words did come, there would always be more blank pages than words and sentences to fill them. But he had to start somewhere.

Screen shot 2014-02-07 at 12.14.06 PM


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