When I see a blank page, I see both limitless possiblity- and a challenge. I know that I can write whatever I want on that blank surface, and I feel like I must write something. So I do. I write stories, to-do lists, journal entries, and thirty page letters. I write down poems I find and like, and I write down turns of phrase that crop up in my mind that strike me as beautiful. And then- then I fill the notebook, use up the pens, and feel accomplished. It is a compulsion that drives me, and it may not be entirely healthy.
I also write to tell stories. I've written and shared swtories since I was in fourth grade. For some reason, my teachers encouraged me. I have to assume they found it cute. But it made my classmates laugh, and I enjoyed having that power, timid little thing that I was. As I got older, I learned I could make them cry too- but that wasn't as much fun. I'd rather male them laugh, and my life has been weird enough to provide the material!
There's even more to it, of course. Sometimes I feel like ideas for stories fill the air around me and all I need to do is reach out and pluck them down onto the page. Sometimes perfect scenes and dialogue play out in my head while I'm walking. (These rarely make it to the page- or if they do, they are in a horribly altered form! I'd doubt my genius... but.... Well, one must be careful about doing so.) And sometime, sometimes I have to write to silence the inspiration pounding through my entire body with my blood at 3 am- just so I can finally go to sleep.
This all, of course, uses up those blank pages and proves that I've done... something...?
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