Rough rough rough. Absolutely open to suggestions (I mean that!) Also, don't take too seriously. It's more like an eye-roll than a rant.
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I open a Word Document, and the cursor blinks at me. Unlimited pages and pages of blank space...and I can’t think what to write!
In my mind are beautiful half formed stories: stories of love and torment, pain and drama, death and adventure; but I can’t think what to write!
How do I start them? With a bang? With a quote? With a kiss?
I pick up a pen and flip open my notebook. Long white pages, smooth to the touch. Is there anything as inspirational or sensual as a fresh white page and a smooth running pen? In my mind are beautiful half formed stories—stories of horror, joy, humour, places far away...but I can’t think what to write!
The best formed stories are someone else’s! The most original are just vague thoughts—a nebula, that I know if condensed would be a gem! But I can’t condense it! When I put it in words, it falls with a clunk. A riddled, ungainly, unnatural, complicated thing! I can’t think what to write!
I can’t make it sound as it does in my head! I can’t capture the last gasp of a dying man or the sob of a widow the way they seem when I whisper them to myself. I can’t think what to write.
How do you start a story, for example, from the viewpoint of someone whose every action is evil, but because their motives are pure you don’t realise it until the end? How would you continue? How would you end? If I could think how to put it into words, I would.
How do you open a story about a man whose adventures and love story were written in flaming letters across the sky? His boyhood on a farm? I know he has one, but I don’t know anything about a farm!
What about the young man who fell in love with an older woman, and she betrayed him? I can’t make that sound realistic either. But it’s there in my head, real and warm, scenes as vivid as the scenes from a movie. Sometimes I see every expression as clearly as if it were in front of my eyes. Sometimes the girl who loves her best friend sits just so, and bites her lip, and lifts her head, just so. But how to put it into words? I can’t think what to write.
What about the detective who is the only one in her dystopic world who has emotions? I don't want to make it heavy, like so much dystopia is! But how can I describe that and make it light? I can't think what to write!
All these story fragments dance in my head, and time passes. I can't think what to write...
Sighing, I put down my pen, close my laptop, and pick up a book by an author who could think what to write.
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Points: 1049
Reviews: 46