The Empty White

Been trying to write more lately and I find myself staring at the page more than actually getting anything done.  Even if it’s something I’ve already started and I’m trying to continue, the space after the last word on the page just seems to grow and grow until it envelops everything.

Eventually I give up and play spider or chess. I get addicted to beating either chance or the computer at its most rudimentary settings. Yesterday I was up til four in the morning playing chess with a partially done short story open in the background. I would move a knight or lose a pawn and eye the white void beyond the chess board.

it’s a weird feeling to have ideas to have a good sense of where that idea is or should go and even how to get there but still find myself wholly unable to make the journey.


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