A blank page opens the mind

A blank page opens the mind. I have this statement written on the wall above my writing desk. Why? Because these words are a simple yet beautiful truth to remember every time I put my pen to paper. The truth that this blank page is a canvas waiting for a masterpiece, an empty lot waiting for a home, a void universe waiting in anticipation for creation.

And you the creator allow your mind to connect with it. A blank page is a portal straight to your soul. For someone, anyone, to read your words is for them to look into your mind. Your thoughts right there on paper for the world to see. The way you process life is evident there, the way you structure sentences and place your punctuation, pepper it with cultural misuse of grammar and spelling. This is a window to your soul even more than the depths of your eyes, even more unique than your own finger print is the way you carve words into paper. To capture your audience; that first word, first sentence, first paragraph.

Every moment crucial. You, baring your soul sometimes in invitation, enticing your reader in and seducing their attention. Other times like a conquering warrior enslaving your reader to the power of your words, and they, unable to tear their eyes away are drawn into your soul and bound to its purpose. Desperate to see what will happen over the next page, and the next, and the next, until finally you reach your conclusion.

And it is over, and they are enchanted, in love, brought to tears that such a story is finished. Stockholm syndrome at its most blatant. You, or I, the captor seekingΒ only the love and devotion of the reader.

Oh, you the reader who once enthralled, breaks the barrier between reality and the extraordinary and climbs through the page and into my mind, welcome. Join me. It’s only just beginning.

a blank page
One sunny evening in a park, somewhere near central London…

 

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