Blank Page

When the words don’t come, I sit and stare at the lighted screen; I play with my music on my computer, moving folders around like a game of musical chairs, listening to songs that usually hide in the background while I write; I stare at books on my bookshelf; I pick up reference books and flip through their pages wondering if they will spark an idea or a direction for me to take; I look at completed stories and wonder how I finished them; I look at the stories that are published and wonder if it was a fluke; I pace the room and then wander through my apartment doing meaningless tasks; I take a walk and end up at a coffee shop; I buy a coffee and sit tapping my pen on a clean page; and when the coffee cup is empty, I return home, back to my blank screen and start typing – the words are there again.

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