I’ve stared at a blank page for almost two hours now, starting and deleting probably 15 times. Every time I get going I hit a wall and start over, only to have the blank white page taunt me again. But after sitting here stumped, I started to realize the beauty in a blank page. It’s an empty canvas waiting for stories not yet told. Stories with twists and turns, ups and downs. Stories that could have any ending, even those storybook endings where the hero rides off into the sunset.
These blank pages are almost like a second shot, or a chance to start over again.