The Blank Page

When I decided to pursue writing as a career, I anticipated a lot of different reactions.  I expected people to tell me that I was crazy and irresponsible, or that I was spoiled, or that I was naïve.  What I didn’t expect to hear, and what most people told me, was that I was brave.  Brave.  People still tell me that I’m brave.  They tell me I made a bold choice, and that it takes courage to pursue this dream of mine.  The truth, I think, is more relatable, more grounded in real life, and so very human.

I’m scared.

The day I decided to leave my full-time job, I didn’t do it because I was brave.  I did it because I was afraid that I’d be stuck doing something I didn’t love until I either retired or died.  Then, when I handed in my resignation and started saying my goodbyes, I was afraid that I’d made a terrible mistake.  The first Monday I ever spent just writing, I was afraid that I’d never make any money again, and Graham and I would end up destitute and it would be all my fault.

And I’m still scared, because the thing that frightens me most in this world, the one thing that gives me nightmares, the one fear I can’t conquer, is just this:


The blank page.  The beginning.  The start of the marathon.  The mountain to climb, and my own personal Everest.  I’m scared of a lot of things – heights, elevators, airplanes, snakes, ladybugs – but nothing scares me as much as the blank page.  It’s a world of possibilities, and the responsibility to explore it and fill it up with words that sing is exhilarating and paralyzing all at the same time.

I’m scared of the blank page because words are powerful, and stories are important, and storytellers are the guardians of our history and our humanity, and I’m just a girl from a small town in Virginia sitting at my desk in my pajamas trying to write words that matter.

I’m not brave, but I don’t have to be.  I just have to write.  I have to get the words out of me and into the world, whether anyone reads them or not.  I have to, because if I don’t, they’ll just build up in my head and the weight of them, the pressure of all of them floating around in there, jammed together in a Times New Roman mosh pit, will drive me crazy.  I have to, because I love stringing words together to make something that didn’t exist before.  It’s the closest to magic that I’ll ever get.

Bravery is overrated, and sometimes you just have to embrace the fear and let it motivate you to take the actions you need to take.  I’m not brave, but I am writing, and that’s enough.

3 thoughts on “The Blank Page

  1. I understand that feeling. Just last night I awoke to “many words that wanted to be put on paper” and I knew that if I got out of bed to write them my 5:30 work alarm would be more evil than usual. Not that I feel capable of pursuing a writing career but the words still seemed worth being communicated, and if I can remember them the way they came to me last night I will take the time to write them…if only for me. So you do have the right plan and you must be able to write whenever you are inspired because that is your dream and your destiny.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I agree with all those who say you are brave! I am proud to call you my niece and looking forward to reading your novel. Your blog is entertaining and at times gives me food for thought. Keep on writing, Dear Girl, because there are those of us who need to read your words.


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