It mocks me. It whispers bits of inspiration that are too muffled to discern. Brilliance eludes. Palettes of words, ready to be blended into clever phrases and thought-provoking… I am at a loss. My brush has smeared words across this canvas that I cannot morph into “happy little” whatevers. Lines and erasures mar the once clean fibers. Scratches of nonsense meander aimlessly onwards in some pathetic attempt to craft a piece that won’t be embarrassing. As the end of blankness draws near, I wonder…
Sitting in a coffee shop with my husband the other day, I stated “Ah, the curse of the blank page!” His response was to “start with that,” so I did. Thankfully, said “blank page” was a short one on my Supernote (eInk device), or who knows how much blather it might have included before the end! So while this contains a bit of truth, it was written as a fluff of whimsy.
Ivory Calla 