A clean white page

This is going to be my blog from now on.  I put the old one to sleep,with not a little regret.  It served me well, my old blog.  I know this one won’t be the same.

The question is, what will this one be? I feel like I’ve walked into a new home.  It’s bare, a little soulless, truth be told, but rich with possibility.  A bit like a new notepad.  At this point in time – before any words are written – it has limitless potential.  It might turn out to be the best blog ever written.

I love a nice new notepad.  Until I write in it, it’s always possible that I might write something really special there. The moment I put pen to paper, reality sets in.  It becomes home to my half-baked thoughts and scratchings-out.  Dead ends will be found there.  Sometimes I will even drop off while writing in it and my handwriting, already imperfect, will fall right off the end of the page like a drunken spider. 

Possibilities are perfect.  Realities less so.  When I write, I have an idea in my mind that is wordless.  Better than anything else, I know what the story feels like.  And it’s that, the feeling, that I want to get to.  More than constructing a plot or creating characters, more even than writing half-decent prose.  But it’s an impossible quest.  The thing I want to capture is real in its way (I felt it, after all, didn’t I?) but fleeting and slippery.  I can only ever see it out of the corner of my eye. 

That feeling, and the clean white page, are two ends of the line that draws the circle.  Those two points meet at 12 o’clock, even though they’re at opposite ends of that line.  They meet in the space – between Saturday night and Sunday morning – where all things are possible, in an instant of time that (probably) doesn’t exist.

This is the first page in a new notebook.  Already, my vision of the clean white page has gone.  Already, this will never be  the best blog ever written.  I’ve  crossed the line from midnight to morning.  

But on the plus side, I’ve written my first blog post.

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