The problem with a white blank word page is that it stares back at you. In your face, it seems to say. It is a manifestation of the blankness in your mind then. The fact that you can’t seem to figure out how you start, how to make sense of what you are thinking, how to make it understandable for the few great minds and the numerous feeble minds out there – if this hurts you, you are in the latter group hahaa.
You look, and then you think. You make a sentence in your head and then move your fingers, before you give the kiss – sorry, keys – that delicate touch, you find a fault in your sentence. It can’t be like that, you say, it won’t fit into the story well, it doesn’t bring out the sarcasm, I need a better one. Then you are back to thinking again and like a wicked witch’s spell, the circle goes on. You keep making sentences; you keep moving your fingers desperate for a touch of the delicate kiss even just once.
They tell a fairy of a princess that only needed a kiss from a prince to break a wicked spell that was cast upon her. Like that princess, your ideas remain an imagination in your mind, you imagine how the prince will look like after you get that delicate kiss – this time it’s the right word – and like the prince in that story the perfect sentences eludes you. Just like the princess you get imposter sentences, sentences not worth the stature of a prince, sentences that you can’t touch with your hands leave alone letting your lips touch theirs.
You imagine the rest of your story after you get the perfect start; you create it in your mind, word after word, sentence after sentence, paragraph after another. Like that princess, life after the kiss makes sense, it’s perfect, it’s happy and everything just falls into place. But you have to get that kiss. You have to get that touch. You need your prince. Damn this blank page.
Your mind starts wondering off. You start thinking about awkward stuff. Stuff like why did Microsoft make this page white? White is pure, white is clean, it symbolizes righteousness. This page is white; it might be clean but pure and righteous? Definitely not. Its tormenting, its rude in its stare. It is sinful, with thousands of sins. I just can’t pin down one of its sin in my head for you but am convinced it sins. Maybe it has cast a spell that obscures its sins from the eyes of men, even the most observant of men.
Then in between the confusion, between the awkward thoughts and when you are convinced you are not getting anywhere with your story. When you have given up on your prince, when you are thinking that maybe it was never going to happen and maybe it was meant to end that way. Like the princess, you start thinking that maybe you were meant to die with the spell. But then it hits you. In between the kilos of chaff you find your lost pin of gold. In that large dark cloud of thoughts you find the silver line. The thought jerks you. Your fingers cant wait to feel the keys. You hit one after the other. Just like the story in your mind, you go sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph.
You see, just like every fairy tale, there is always a happy ending. The prince shows up in an entourage, the princess’ heart jerks, then like an excited fetus it kicks with excitement, beats through the chest. She is wearing that wide smile on her face. She lifts her big robe and throws away her shoes. She runs like she is going to lose her legs if she doesn’t and embraces the prince in a kiss of love and witchcraft. She cant stop now, her heart wont let her. The satisfaction that comes with it wont let her.
Though it seems like forever for the onlookers, ripe with envy, blushing and trying to avoid eye contact with the two – there is no point, their eyes are closed anyway – its seconds for the princess. She wishes she didn’t have to eat, shower, wishes that she couldn’t get tired of kissing. That night never fell and day never broke. She feels a little guilty that she wishes the people around them could be swallowed by the earth. But what’s a little guilt? What’s a little evil thought if they could stand there forever, if she is going to be free of evil for the rest of her life? If she could do what she loves until death takes either of them away?
What is the moral in this jumble of word you might ask? I will not answer. I will write this. Everything everyone does needs the first step. For some people it comes easily, not such a biggie. For others its treacherous hard work, you practice, you type, you backspace like hell. You try to create that story. Man you try.
But if writing is what you want, writing you will get. Hit those keys until they lose their markings if that is what it takes. Hit that backspace until it comes off the bottom of your laptop. Write simple things, try to write complicated things. Write when you are sad, write when you are happy, write when you are mad and write when you are hungry.
Make mental and physical notes of ideas you want to write about. Then explore them, research them, give those angles and most importantly turn them into stories.
Practice for you is like patience for the princess, in the end it bring the perfect kiss. In the end, it doesn’t matter how much chaff you make. Your gold pin is in there somewhere. Find it. And please don’t swallow it or keep it within the reach of children. hahaaa
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