a self note on conquering the fear of the blank page: episode 1A Poem by plainme‘’Honey? Call the doctor. It’s back.’’ This scenario plays over and over in your head when you
freeze. The flashing line counts seconds, minutes and perhaps even hours while
you stare at the white page.
There’s no trigger, there are no words that can describe
this feeling. It’s just a plain, a void, a deep and vast emptiness filled with
nothingness. It’s as if you’re stuck in a vortex, and see vaguely typed words
flashing by. You’re floating. Gravity as non-existent as the words you’re
trying to glue together, but just can’t find the words, or the glue. You’re
holding your brain, but it just transforms into fine silky sand and rolls
through the spaces in your fingers. You’re done. And that’s when the nightmares start. You sleep with your
eyes open, searching for words in the crevices of that brain of yours which has
been blown dry of all the fluid that kept your tiny literary engine going.
You’re deprived of a soul, deprived of the key to freedom. You’re trying to
fulfill your biggest wish of freeing all those crows, so they can fly as one again.
But no… Even the doctor won’t help you. He’ll tell you to read a
book, or take a break from your work. He’ll advise
you to stop smoking and drinking and start doing sports. But he just advises. He just tells you what you
could do and should, but I’m certain he’s as clueless of the problem just as
you are. He’s not even trying. He’s just glad it’s not him. You leave his office and walk the streets, endlessly
stretching. No destination in mind, nothing in particular in it. You’re trying
to catch up on what you lost so you decide to write and you end up here? © 2014 plainmeReviews
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