Blank Page: Warm Up

It’s been a while since I’ve laid word onto parchment, well, I supposed it’s been either not a while at all or an indefinite while since parchment laying as I’ve never quite done that, but you get my jest either how. Writing gets away from you easily, I think. It flows naturally when you finally sit down and do it, but it ebbs eerily when you get caught up in life. I supposed that’s how it’d have to work, that’s how all art work, just start doing it and perhaps something nice will come of it. I’m here now, at the very least, and I’m happy to start but nervous I won’t be getting anywhere. What if I lost it, I think and then remember a quote saying the exact same thing in some book about anxious writers I once read (perhaps it was Bird by Bird). What if I can’t think of cool ideas for stories anymore…

But then, truly, what if. It certainly worries me. I mean, clearly I can still write, I’m doing it now, and clearly I can come back and sit here every day and come up with something, but what if nothing strikes. What if, like a blacksmith who once worked for the royal guard, I start making horseshoes for the rest of my life and become a poor squabbled man. Ah, but how could that be, I’m already a poor and very squabbled man.

So, I’ve begun and what next to write about. Sitting here I’ve thought of one, writing about the T-thing, the orange man, making him a bear or something in some kids book. I could start with poetry, I like poetry and it comes pretty easy, plus it doesn’t sounds as daunting. I’ll come back to this, perhaps, or perhaps not, but I’ll name it my warm up paper, just so I can babble and get back into things.