Fear of a Blank Page

The best part? This is probably about half of the journals that I own.

Last week's posts were my nascent attempts at travel writing, and I felt really good about how they turned out overall. The second day one in particular was probably my best effort, and hopefully I will get around to doing it again soon.

Part of this space is for experimentation, and thank you to anyone who checked them out via Twitter or Facebook. I appreciate anyone reading what I have to say. It is encouraging to say the least.

One of the funny quirks that I have, I guess, is that I have gotten into the habit of carrying a little (or big) notebook or journal with me most places I go and when it is appropriate.

The lack of having a journal with me really struck home when I found myself spending the entirety of last Thursday in an auto repair shop getting our Saturn SUV fixed; there was a coolant leak at the intake manifold that needed to be fixed, and our exhaust manifold cracked completely in two at some point during our trip, and made its presence felt on our drive home.

But as I spent all day in auto repair hell waiting for her to get fixed, I brought my iPod (a 4th or 5th gen behemoth that is a cross between a tank and a Timex) and my Kindle (last year's Valentine's Day present). I also had the joy of watching the vapid cesspool that is modern daytime television. All I can say is, "Oy."

Yet I didn't have my notebook, and it was bothering me much of the day.

Obviously, as I point out in the picture above, simply saying "A" notebook is not sufficient, as I have lots. Way too many, actually.

The most incriminating thing about them though, is if you look inside.

You'll find that most of them are blank or barely used at all.

Some of them have the same information, or very closely related information within their covers.

Most of them are intended as creative writing journals, where I sketch out characters and their backgrounds and histories. Some of the smaller ones are intended as day-to-day notebooks, for making notes about life or things I want to buy or things that look interesting.

It's the creative writing journals that are the ones that tend to be more lightly scribbled in lately.

It would be easy to blame it on writer's block, but I don't think that's the case.

I have ideas. I have lots of ideas.

But I am afraid of the blank page.

It is paralyzing to look at the screen and see nothing but a cursor staring back, blinking unceasingly, taunting your fingers and your brain to work together to move it across the page, from left to right and top to bottom.

It is the creative part of me that is currently shrinking from its challenge to be free, to be creative, to use the energy that is backed up inside my mind before it vanishes.

I have, on my jump drive, initiated drafts of five novels, all in varying states of incompletion. The shortest one is about five sentences; the longest is 50 pages double spaced. One of them I am convinced will work better as a film, and so I am probably going to lean in that direction.

I just...can't make my fingers work when I want them too.

It's funny, because when I sit to write a column or blog post about college football for some of the sites I write for, the words just flow once I get ahold of my central thesis. I can bang out a 1,000 word piece in about 30 minutes if I get on a roll, and about an hour if I have to start and stop and do research.

I've been writing some of these stories/books for almost a decade at this point.

Right now, my fear of the blank page is winning in a blowout.