That daunting whiteness stumps many writers and I am no different. 

It stares back at me, taunting me to type, to ruin its perfect whiteness with letters, words, paragraphs.  It taunts me to write the story, but I don’t know what is holding me back.  Something is holding me back.

Is it the empty thoughts that cloud my mind?

Is it the thought of B5 feeding me wontons or the times that we hung out together?  Is it the separation from Ms. D that I’m feeling?  We are there, but not always there?

What is it?

Or is it just the fear of what all writers go through?  I need to just write it out, conquer it.  Just write. 

I’m trying a different trick, focusing my mind on something else until the story chisels its way out of my mind and onto the page.  I’m just looking for that one thread that will tie everything together, and right now, I have nothing to tie together.

Maybe that is my problem, as my mind has been a little preoccupied as of late. 

My mind has been filled with little thoughts of this and that and it accounts for nothing.  They are just fleeting thoughts that have no lasting impression.

They are nothing but mere musings of the heart, of the soul, of just playful teases to keep my mind busy and on something else.

I’m in a state of mind of that is not conducive for creativity. 

Am I in it again?  Another visit from this old long lost familiar friend of mine? 

It doesn’t feel like it, but it is something different, something I haven’t been able to shake.

I don’t know what it is, but it is definitely something.

*    *    *

When will it be over?  How long will this friend of mine stay this time?

I’m blocked.

I know I shouldn’t be looking toward this as a creative endeavor but more as work, as a assignment like I am making this little post of mine.  It is a assignment and I have no problems putting my thoughts into words here.

Why make the other any different?

It is the same.  Thoughts on paper.  Thoughts into words. 

Just do it.

Write.

Think.

Create.

Flow.

Stream the singsong streams of shoes and traveling.

They should be perfect for you; the inner wanderlust should be able to write it without any problems. 

Tap it.  Tap that inner soul of yours, that little child that I know you to be and just write you motherfucker.  Write!

Create.

This is it.

This is what you want to do.  Ever since the thought of writing came into your fingers, to your soul, it is what you’ve always wanted to do.  Write.

And now you should do it.  Just write.

Fucking write.

No need to brainstorm, no need to think.  Just let your fingers do the work.  Your mind and your fingers are one.  One thought.  One stream of consciousness that flows.

Words appear and soon a story of little shoes.

WRITE.

Words.

Sentences.

Paragraphs.

WRITE.