You know when you hit the fridge over an over again hoping something new will magically appear, and it doesn’t? Those wilted spinach leaves and that hairy-lipped carton of orange juice are still the only things in there! Well, that’s what trying to find words feels like today: a maddening cycle of hope and futility.
My brainwaves have short-circuited. Reduced to a blinking cursor; an anxious heartbeat flipping the bird at my lack of creativity.
Flip… flip… flip…
As a professional writer it’s a terrifying place to be. All I’m good for are words and ideas. What am I supposed to do when I run out??
And yet, I am at my favorite sushi restaurant typing away. When I sat down I had NOTHING to write. Still, I forced myself to do it. And behold–A blah-g is born!
Okay, so technically, this is not about anything. But it’s also about everything–everything that being a writer is. Which is showing up and writing anyway, especially when the fridge is empty.
When you do, something filling always appears.