The Next Book, Part 4
Because there will be distractions as your storytelling go along.
There is some kind of force of nature that attempts to get us writers to do almost anything else besides to scribble our thoughts on blank pages. Perhaps it is an extra-dimensional presence from the Nubulon Province, the angst of dead Irish poets, the tribulation of all things not visible…or perhaps it’s in your head.
Don’t blame the Internet or your kids, that’s for sure. Yeah, they’re both obtrusive and they’ll always be begging for your attention in their respective ways, but it’s not them. It’s you. Every time that I find myself on a website for more than a few minutes, there’s an internal nudging that I’ve programmed myself to respond to that allows me to zoom out and catch a larger view of the moment. It took up until about three years ago to figure out how to do this, but it’s there. And while losing yourself in the world of virtual nonsense is easy to do, it doesn’t have to be this way.
There will be distractions. The weather might be really terrific outside. You may not want to look at your laptop anymore, and I don’t blame you. It’s your duty as a writer, nay, as a storyteller, to get things down on those blank pages. Who are they, anyways? Just sitting there, all stacked in a ream, tight and organized. Prove to them that you’re the master, you’re their fate. Make them beholden to you, in whatever way you see fit. Blank pages don’t deserve to be blank for much longer.
Let’s see to it to destroy the tyranny of emptiness. Let’s see to it to make them our bitch.