The Blank Page

I try to spend at least a half hour a day banging my head against a wall. Some may call it writing, and yes, at times words appear on a page, only to be backspaced into oblivion. But more often than not, the dominant behavior during these sessions is my metaphorical forehead slamming against metaphorical brick.

It’s been getting much easier though, because I’ve felt the feeling of reward. Three times over the past few months, I’ve had many-day periods of painful writers block, each time when trying to express something complicated, which ended in several-hour bursts of MiraLax’ed expression, writing that was somehow cogent and fully formed.

Now that I blissfully expect to be sitting in one of those periods, have I thwarted this unconscious process? I’m sure that in theory, expressing complex ideas in narrative form can happen without a feeling of pain. I’m just not sure if I’m there yet.

I’ll keep writing this screenplay, starting over again each day with a blank page and a new plan of attack, and see where it goes. And I’ll let ya know.



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