Making Friends with The Blank Page

There’s nothing quite like the silent judgement of a blank page. It just sits there, empty, expectant, maybe even slightly smug, like it knows you’ve got nothing. Not yet, anyway.

Starting something new can feel like a strange mix of annoyance, hope, and mild nausea. Whether it’s a poem, a story, or the dreaded email I’ve put off for three days, that moment before the first word appears is sometimes a struggle. Some people describe it as exciting. I think they might be fibbing.

At first, I do what any reasonable person would do. I stare at it. I make a cup of coffee. I check the weather, just in case a sudden storm means I’ll have to heroically abandon my laptop. I wonder if I should reorganise the kitchen cupboard (again). I think about how nice it would be to be the kind of person who starts confidently and never doubts themselves.

But eventually...a whisper. A line, a rhythm, a half-thought. It’s never the whole thing. Just enough to begin.

That’s when the page stops being blank and starts to flow. I write something. It’s not in sequence, not fully formed. That’s fine. A first line is just scaffolding. You don’t have to keep it. You just need something to stand on while you build the next bit.

Some people say to start at the beginning. That stopped me writing for years.

I say, start.

Doesn't matter where. Doesn't have to be the start of the story. Maybe it's simply a scene, the kernel of an idea. Simply write it down. For me, it's not about imagining writing a story as being a single stream flowing forwards. It's more about thoughts and paragraphs shooting off along the lines of a cobweb, converging, diverging, creating something wondrous.

I write what I see. What I mean by that is I write by watching a movie. I see my story as a movie and am describing the scenes playing in my mind.

For me, writing is rarely a lightning bolt. It’s more like assembling a wardrobe from mysterious flat-pack parts and no instructions. Some days it goes up beautifully. Some days the door’s on upside down and you wonder if it’s worth it. But if you keep going, eventually you can stand back and say, “Hmm. That looks like a thing.”