The Blank Page is Not so Blank

Double space, Times New Roman, half-inch indent

It gives me a chill each time I open a new page to begin a story. I have a ritual each time and once I begin, I feel a welling up in my chest like I’m seeing a well-loved friend or looking at my beautiful children. It’s comfort, welcoming and promise all tied up into one vivid OCD moment.

It’s thrilling in both the good way and the bad way.

But that’s how I feel when I open a page. Excitement and new beginnings. I know my emotions will swing like a pendulum from highs of ecstasy and joy to lows so powerful that I’ll go through an entire box of tissues, going in to my ‘regular’ job bleary-eyed and mopey.

But oh so worth it.

What will it be this time? Romance, paranormal, pratfall comedy? Maybe a mixture of each of the elements I love to write about. Only time will tell. Endless rewrites and edits and then off to my friend for a read. Encouragement and more editing — never harsh but always honest.

And even if that damn manuscript sits on my desk for years collecting dust and slipping into obscurity, I don’t regret it. I love my books. I love reading them even though some of my first efforts make me cringe. I see myself and my life — the good and the bad in each of those pages and what brought all of it to where I am now and just — well, I just have to stop and catch my breath and thank the gods of all that is good that I am right where I am in this time and in this place.

Where I was always meant to be.

I’m opening a page soon and the possibilities before me are endless. The plot will twist and turn and the characters will struggle and soar with greatness.

I cannot wait.

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