The Blank Stare
I stare at the blank page. It has that intimidating blank look. I ask myself, how is it possible for a BLANK, yes, BLANK, page to be intimidating? What is there about it that taps on some, previous-to-staring-at-it, fear? Why am I so hesitant to make an entry on it? Does IT have some expectation of authorial wizardry for all who dare to enter its domain? Are only the most notable writers of the literary world permitted to grace its pages with their thoughts and ideas? How dare I, a literary nobody, put one solitary word on it!
Quick!!! Start pressing the backspace key and remove the evidence of your illiteracy before someone else sees what you have audaciously done here! Oh, crap! Who in the hell makes a keyboard without a backspace key! What sadistic pile of human refuse does that to an aspiring writer! Wait! What about the undo feature? What abo. Shit, that only goes back so far, and now I look like a real literary boob.
It’s the least I could do!
I could write a book, but this is the least I could do.
I could build a lovely piece of furniture, but this is the least I could do.
I could clear my driveway of snow, but this is the least I could do.
I could plan an exotic island vacation, but this is the least I could do.
I could prepare my tax filing paperwork, but this is the least I could do.
I could finish reading my novel, but this is the least I could do.
I could text or call a family member or friend, but this is the least I could do.
I could shave and brush my teeth, but this is the least I could do.
I could clean out the kitty litter, but this is the least I could do.
I could cancel my subscription to . . ., but this is the least I could do.
Wow! Look at how much I have done!