The Horrors of a Blank Canvas
I promise, more in depth and thoughtful posts are forthcoming, but an ongoing lack of sleep and long work days make for poor blog time this week.
That said, I was listening to a podcast at work today, as I am wont to do, and the guest was talking about how he was horrible at writing in the face of an empty page/screen (a blank canvas). His strengths were in helping others who'd already written something, and in editing, tweaking, and perfecting existing manuscripts. I realized that, for the most part, I am the same way. It was an enlightening discovery.
It's not as though a blank canvas fills me with dread or anxiety, there are plenty of other things that accomplish that sensation, but it merely fills me with emptiness. If one can be filled with emptiness, that is. So many listicles and forums filled with NaNoWriMo suggestions tell people to merely start writing. It doesn't matter what it is. Just write. Write the word dog 1,000 times if you have to. Just don't stare at a blank page. So, I suppose I'm not the only that looks at a blank page and replies with "meh".
As much as I always hated that go-to interview question, I recognize now that it's crucial to know one's own strengths and weaknesses. As I am getting older (I'm "only" 37, so that's a matter of perspective), I am embracing my own and trying to cater to them. While I have written things myself—a draft of a full-length screenplay, a few short scripts, a mere 7,500-ish words of a novel—I do find greater motivation and success behind a fair critique of another person's work. I don't mean to just point out flaws, but instead to share ideas, and push it to the next level, to flesh out a characters motives, or enhancing a setting.
Perhaps that's why I began Listic Publishing. It's an opportunity to play on that strength. Ironically (is that the right use of that word?), I used to bind blank journals, and have considered restarting that hobby. Of course, I'd give them away or sell them, so I suppose I have been playing into this all along, after all.
