This time for sure.
I came in like a lion and placed my hands on the keyboard, ready to write words in such a way that readers would be captivated, and fellow word-smiths would stand and applaud.
The blank page looked looked scintillating; inviting, daring me to paint her canvas with a journey of delight and adventure.
My hands were poised.
My thesaurus like mind was generating explosive and compelling prose.
I embraced the blank page in a fevered grasp and started typing.
But the page was only playing with me. She let me believe I had the upper hand, that she was unable to resist the blazing presence of my fiery mind.
She stopped me dead in my tracks and asked, “Have you started yet?”
I was undone.
Instead of being steely strong, issuing wells of prose, my words lay there, shriveled up and pathetic.
I choked, I lost my momentum, the rhythm of my words were not right. I fumbled and lowered my hands.
In that single phrase, I knew there was no way I was going to have my way with this page.
The blank page won. And this is all I have to show for it.
As I left the room, I heard her say, “It’s OK, it happens to every word-smith now and then.”
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