Blank Page Phobia

Photo cred: Flickr user Matt Roberts

If there’s a trope in the writer world more cliche than “It was a dark and stormy night…” it’s the terror of the blank page.

We all face it—the emptiness like a white-out blizzard that might swallow us and numb us until the terror turns to frozen death—the fear we try not to acknowledge, hiding behind funny writer jokes and declarations of how much we adore creating worlds out of graphemes.

I face it when I sit down to the first daunting word of an assignment and when I open a document for a new story. I face it two paragraphs in, when the rest of the page stretches like the wilderness at the crumbled end of an abandoned sidewalk. I face it when I open a new blog post like this one and wonder yet again if I have anything to write that’s worth posting.

The world is full of shouting voices. The internet is a veritable sea of people waving their arms and shouting, “Over here! Hey! I’m right here!” and “Can you hear me? Can you hear me now?” And somewhere, in the midst of that, in a world where 6.7 million people blog on blogging sites alone and and somewhere between 600 thousand and a million books are published each year in just the US—somewhere, buried in the noise and the chaos, each of us hopes to be heard.

Photo cred: Flickr user steve

That blank-page-phobia isn’t really about coming up with the right words. It isn’t “What if I have nothing to say?”

It’s “What if nobody cares?”

Our greatest fear isn’t of being silent, but of being silenced.

We fear obscurity. We fear redundancy. We fear the “so what?” factor—that the words we feel to be so intimately a part of us will be met with apathy if we open them to the world.

We are portrayed time and again as a selfish culture—all of us, whether as a country or as a generation—but the truth is that we don’t shout for attention because we’re narcissists. We shout because we’re desperately lonely. In a world where all of us plead for attention, most of our voices mingle into unintelligible noise.

As writers, we’re told to churn out material constantly. The most oft-repeated advice I’ve heard is, “Write every day.” Write because practice makes perfect. Write because the more pieces you put out, the more likely one or two of them will float to the top of the pile and gain notice.

Write. Write. Write.

And I stare at the blank page and tell myself to write, and a small voice inside me whispers, “But what if nobody reads it?”

So today, I give you and me permission not to write.

To set the blank page aside and listen to one or two of the other voices screaming into the void. Today, let’s take the time to let some other lonely soul know that their voice is heard—that their words are not white noise—that the confessions of their heart are not redundant, not worthless.

And then, when we’ve done that, I give you and me permission to write.

To craft sentences and select words and make typos and finish—or not finish. To publish—or to not publish. I give us permission to write because we are writers and because the craft itself is a worthwhile endeavour. And I give us permission to love our writing even if nobody else reads it, to set our words aside if they do not contribute to the clamour of voices—or to lay our souls before the world, knowing that the act itself is meaningful, no matter the result.

Because none of us is silent. None of us is obscure. None of us is redundant. No matter how many voices drown us out, each of us matters.

Photo cred: Flickr user Amy Palko

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3 Reasons You Should Do NaNoWriMo

It’s November–the month of crunchy leaves, cold wind, the first snowflakes, and…rough drafted novels?

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Yes, my word-loving friends, National Novel Writing Month is upon us again. All across my social media, the familiar abbreviation is cropping up, usually accompanied by expressions of excitement and terror. Word counts are appearing in people’s Tweets and statuses, and frenzied writers are placing desperate calls to friends for plot help.

NaNo, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is essentially a challenge: write a 50,000-word novel in a month.

Now, I get that not everyone is interested in a writing-related career. But if you have even the slightest interest in writing, I encourage you to dive into the NaNo challenge with the rest of us, and here’s why.

  1. Support
    I’ve taken part in critique circles, editing groups, and submission calls, and these result in critiques, edits, and rejections (and, of course, sometimes, acceptance–which is always accompanied by critiques and edits). A writer needs thick skin; we pour our hearts into original creations and then bear the pain of seeing all our creations’ flaws pointed out… but not during NaNo! This month is not about perfection or critiques. This month is about kicking out word after word after word, pressing through writers’ block, overcoming lapses in creativity, doing anything it takes to reach that goal. The result of NaNo is not, in anyone’s case, a perfect novel. It’s the worst rough draft you’ve ever written, which is exciting because, in the end, you’ve written it. All of us know that our novels will be utter rubbish when we finish. We know each other’s novels will be utter rubbish. So we celebrate the rough drafts. We celebrate every word we force from our imaginations, through our nerves, out our fingers onto the screen. We celebrate the plot holes and the bad twists and the cliches and the filler words and the improbable endings. We celebrate the process.
  2. Community
    Writing is by nature a solitary pursuit, and many writers are by nature solitary people. NaNo gives us a chance to join together in our solitude. I sit on my couch alone with my cup of coffee and my word count of, most likely, a thousand words fewer than I need for the day, but I’m not really alone. I’m in the company of hundreds of thousands of writers around the world. Each of us has a different reason for doing this. Stubbornness, maybe, or love of a challenge. Desire to prove wrong everyone who said we couldn’t, or desperation to finish something big. Certainty that our words matter. No matter our reasons, our goal is the same, and in that shared goal, we find a community that surprises me every year with its strength, warmth, and openness. My first year, I met a fantastic writer from South Africa. My second, I discovered another girl on my floor was also a writer. I could keep going and going; every year, I find some new aspect of this huge, nebulous community of creative souls. We’re always changing, always growing, always welcoming.
  3. Success
    Here’s the thing that put me off NaNo for a couple consecutive years: we talk about winning. People who hit their 50k words call themselves NaNo winners, which is way cool if you hit your 50k. But what if you freeze up? What if you scramble those last few hours and at 11:59pm on the last day of November, you’re staring at 45k, or 35k, or 25k? What if you aren’t a winner? The idea of “winning” NaNo is a fundamental misunderstanding of the point. The point is to throw yourself into something and work at it even when it’s hard. The point is to write every day, even when you don’t want to, even when writer’s block is taunting you. The point is to end November having created something out of nothing. There is nothing magic about the number 50,000, but there is something magic about the grit and determination it takes to shut off distractions and ignore the mocking voices in your head long enough to write. The NaNo website says, “Valuing enthusiasm, determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever thought about writing a novel.” It’s not for “anyone who can write 50,000 words in a month” or “anyone who won’t fall short of the challenge”–it’s for anyone with the guts to sit down and write when it seems impossible. And if you end short of the deadline, you didn’t lose. If you end with any words more than you would’ve written otherwise, you succeed.

Maybe you’re glancing at this post out of the corner of your eye while you type and you’ve already hit a few thousand words. Maybe you’re curled up and your fingers are trembling at the idea of starting a monumental project. But no matter what position you’re in, if you have a plot in your head, if you have a character rattling the bars of your imagination, if you have anything inside you that perks up at the idea of writing… write! This month is for you.

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