For a creative individual, the worst thing is the blank sheet of paper, the empty frame or the blank space after long moments of staring at it. It feels like a curse with a spice of ineptitude and pinch of despair.
There is this desire bursting inside, prompting you to unleash your creative powers and then nothing. Zilch. Null. Nothing comes out. Just bits and pieces, incoherent as ever. – a bit of a turd really. You can’t help it. It’s just the way it is, really.
Some days are better than others, though. It comes naturally. Words are flowing like a river, frames with perfect light and vivid movement are captured with the shutter’s push. But rarely, though.
Stuck, you make tea, try to walk it off or make a sandwich. You try with some music on the background, or you flip through the greatness of stuff other artists came up with. You might even resort to rereading that awful book someone wrote or that movie you rated 2 on IMDb. Whatever might float your boat.
But there is still nothing. Your head is again in the fridge. Or you stare at the wall fingers pacing on the table in the beat of the music—some more flipping of pages, some more reading.
It is stressful, isn’t it? Sort of petrifying, I’d reclaim. Knowing you want to do something, you have this great idea, and nothing comes out. It’s like you being at the shooting range. You shout “Pull”, the clay figurine precipitates in the air, you know your aim is excellent, you pull the trigger, there is a pop and… Nothing happens.
The blank sheet torments you. It is actively screwing with your brains. You feel miserable and yet persistently trying to get out of it. It is a vicious circle right up when it is either your head or the stone wall giving up. Until next time again, that is.
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