Over the past month or so, I have really struggled with blank page problems.
Every writer faces, them. The taunting flashing cursor on the screen or the pen poised above a clean page in a notebook is enough to make even the most seasoned writer balk in fear.
I find I have a complicated relationship with both procrastination and productivity when it comes to writing. Some people might call this the ‘process’ that is needed to write, that the light levels have to be just so, or the ideas have to be written down in a certain way before they can be acted upon. Some people might need tea, others might need the right music, and a further few might need total peace and silence.
These times, writing is a real artform. It is pure creativity, and best of all I don’t have to try. I can just write, and the words work.
Sadly, those times are not often, or indeed regular. They are sporadic creatures, as is the nature of creativity, which leaves me in a bit of a lurch when I sit down to write and have no inspiration possible.
I have tried various methods of trying to get the creativity flowing, and the best method I have found for my own work ethic is to try and write short, sharp stories and not worry about their quality or content. Simply just keep writing words that I know will never see the light of day and hope that something just clicks to enable me to write more words beyond those first 100.
It’s hard to keep writing when I know that what I write isn’t my best, but at least it is some words. I can always edit those words later, and craft them into something far better. For now, however, I shall just furiously type and hope that amidst the sea of words there is a treasure trove of a story to be found.