The Terror of the Empty Page

I’ve written numerous blogs on the positive aspects of writing, But writing fiction is obviously not all unbridled satisfaction and joy. At times the process can be frustratingly, agonizingly difficult. So misery-inducing as to inspire lines like Ernest Hemingway’s classic remark:  “Writing is easy. All you have to do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein.”

There are many aspects of writing an author may struggle with:  the opening, the characters, the plot, the pacing, the muddle, the ending. Things can go well one day and leave you exhilarated and then the next day everything you write seems like garbage. You can be sailing along, being very productive and then abruptly realize you’ve written yourself into a corner and are going to have to go back and redo pages and pages. And hovering over you is always the possibility you will sit down at the blank screen and nothing will come.

Perhaps if you’re a plotter, you don’t face the terrorizing empty page/screen phenomenon because you always know what you’re supposed to write next. Maybe the desire to avoid that situation is exactly why so many authors plot. They believe if they have a roadmap before they set out on the journey of writing a book they won’t ever have to face the situation of not knowing what happens in the next scene they have to write. But if you’re pantser, that fear of the blank page is ever present. You’re haunted by the dread that sooner or later you’ll sit down to write and the words won’t flow. Your characters will remain inert and as one dimensional as paper dolls and refuse to do anything. You’ll have no idea what even the next line should be.

So, what do you do when this occurs? Sometimes it works to take a break. Step back from the actual writing for a few minutes. Getting up and doing something physical often helps. Something seems to shift in the brain when you move, as if the movement itself jars your creative process into action.

Other times you need a longer break. It can help to let the story percolate in your brain overnight. You can think about the book, mull it over, dream about it, keep it in your conscious mind so that your unconscious can do the creative work of figuring out the story.

Or, you can talk about your problem with other people, especially other writers. Sometimes merely explaining the problem out loud helps your brain find a solution and get unstuck. I suppose you could take that further and talk about the book to yourself. Or talk to your characters and ask them what happens next.

But all these techniques take time and sometimes you don’t have time. You have a deadline, self-imposed or set by outside forces, and you can’t afford to flounder for too long. Then the only answer is to take that break and then get right back to it. Return to facing the blank screen or page and find a way to keep going. Tell yourself you just have to figure out the next line and then the next. Put your butt back in the chair and focus on the story, not the void you confront.

For many of us, the terror of the empty page is based on the dread that the magic will fail. That the gift that allowed us to get this far is gone. It’s no wonder we fear that loss when we view the process of creating stories as an almost mystical gift. One not entirely connected to the mundane, logical skills we use in other aspects of our lives. Perceiving creativity that way means the mysterious ability to create stories is not subject to our own will and control. Thus, we wait for something seemingly from outside us to happen. For inspiration to strike. For our characters to take action as if of their own volition. For the story to take form in front of us as if we’re the observer and not the omniscient god bringing this imaginary world to life. We act as if it is not our brains that are stringing together the words that make up our creation, but some supernatural enchantment from outside us.

And yet, programmers are getting closer and closer to developing computer software that can write fiction. Some people would say they are already there. Others would say that such stories will never be as good as what a human can do. That a machine will never be able to imitate the complex, unfathomable nature of the human brain and its ability to create. But the fact that the tech industry is getting as close as it is suggests that the idea of creativity as something uncontrollable, unknowable, and outside the boundaries of logic and reason, is wrong.

Perhaps part of the reason that computers are able to get so close to perfecting something so complex is because they don’t have any fear of the empty screen/page. They just keep whirring away, trying different things, using different techniques and the information embedded in their memory banks until they come up with a result. They don’t take a break and mull and agonize, but simply keep going. Maybe there’s something to be learned from that for us humans seeking, like gods, to create new worlds. Maybe the secret is to admit we are mere mortals and to realize that it’s really just about hard work and persistence after all.

Mary Gillgannon