Writing blues and other nonsense that show what a clumsy writer I am

If there's one thing in my creative writing class that really imprinted itself on my mind, it's confronting the blank page. My creative writing professor calls it El Diablo Blanco. Pretty neat, huh? When I first heard it, I thought it was the alias of some wrestler or rapper or someone cool and badarse. Today, however, it just fills me with a certain kind of dread.

The blank page.

When I am writing on my journal and I am faced with a blank page (fact: I always carry a writing journal with me 'cause I'm a rebel like that), almost always my immediate thought balloon is: "How in hell do I fill this thing? Can I even fill this?" Then I'd start tapping my pen on my journal or on my lap or on any surface I can tap my pen on. Or if I'm online and I have a mind to make a new blog entry (to sort of keep my blog fresh, you know), I'd sit looking at the blank screen and blinking in time with the text cursor.

And for quite some time I just sit there, staring into the white abyss that is the blank page/screen, reaching into the depths of my mind for something to write about, something to share, something to express. Can I? Can I?

After about ten minutes have passed and I haven't written or typed a single word, and already quite possibly lost the battle to El Diablo Blanco, I'd go crazy and run around like a bloodthirsty caveman while screaming "POTATOES!"

Well, I'm only horsing about the caveman and potatoes thing, but I really do go crazy sometimes.

In a short yet long span of ten minutes, the blank page seems to come alive and pester me with an endless "Can you? Can you? Can you?" It's dementia in its purest form, I'm telling you. Imagine standing in the middle of a football field surrounded by an army of yellow little minions (y'know, from Despicable Me). And then imagine those minions repeatedly yelling "Can you? Can you?" at you in their distorted, nasal voices. Yep. That's how it feels.

But by some obscure, miraculous reason, I eventually get around to filling the page and defeating the El Diablo Blanco. Like the Can I? Can I? football field-minion montage, there's always this familiar ting! of a light bulb everytime my mind finally decides to open up and face the El Diablo Blanco (at times, even accompanied by the sound of a chainsaw brought to life). After that, ideas pool in. I just find myself scribbling or typing furiously on my journal or on my laptop. The quiet swish of the pen and the gentle tic, tic, tic of the keyboard that means I've input yet another letter in the computer are two of the most wonderful sounds that I love hearing.

Oh, and make no mistake. When I say "eventually", it doesn't necessarily mean that after I close my journal then walk around a bit, then I open my journal again, I'd already start writing. My mind gets a little stubborn sometimes; it could even take days or weeks (but not months, thank heavens for that) before I get the nerve to write. Most of the time, what I write even ends up becoming nonsense or headed for the trash. Headed for the trash how? It's like if you and I are in a conversation, I'm all "Oh, did you see how nice the weather this morning was? I left the cage of my rabbit open so he escaped, then I went to school wearing my old chucks." Things like that.

And so it dawned on me that this is another one of those headed for the trash entries.

What was the term my professor used? Deus ex machina. Started with blank pages, went to football fields and minions, swerved to light bulbs and chainsaws, ended with rabbits and old chucks. Yes, I'm already banging my head on my desk for wasting your time just to read this trash. Maybe I'll jump off a cliff next. (Aww, thank you, Marie!) You're welcome.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is that writing is like love-- kidding. Writing is not as easy as it sounds. "Writing? Tedious work? Dude, those are not the same thing." Well, YES THEY ARE YOU ADSFHJHJLKJH. Unless you're a god.

Since this entry is already sounding too trashy and I sure as hell wouldn't edit it because I'm one lazy bastard, and since I already mentioned a while ago that I started with blank pages and ended with rabbits and old chucks, then I'm going to end this entry with rabbits and old chucks.

RABBITS.

OLD CHUCKS.