Before I go and write I wanted to reflect on the blank page that awaits me.

I have an idea in my head and I am ready to start putting it on paper. Two hours from now the blank will be filled, but I am not yet sure what I will have.

Will the words be meaningful? Will the plot fit together? Will my jumbled idea about 4 chairs suddenly flow and stream the right emotions to touch an audience? Will it be moving? Will it be memorable? Will people walk away and ponder? Will they be entertained? Will they be changed?

But right now it’s only blank.

Only time stands in its way. It’s pure the way it is. It’s an untapped idea, but once I start exploring it will no longer be that way. Once I begin, the ideas and thoughts that rattle around in my mind will be affected by it. I will no longer be the same once the page no longer stands empty.

But right now it’s only blank.

The muse has spoken. All it needs is time and direction to rearrange the letters, to blend all the words, to connect all the ideas, to form something larger than each of its individual parts. All it needs is time and that is what I will now give it.

Right now it’s only blank.

But now for long.

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