Fighting the blank screen

 One of my college writing professors once said the only way to get past a blank page is to just start writing. It doesn’t have to be a Pulitzer-winning novel, he said, it may only be thoughts on what’s happening in the news or your life. But if you don’t start writing, then you’ll never be able to call yourself a writer.

The Eastern Trail in Kennebunk.

If I had writer’s block when I was working fulltime Portland I’d look out my window facing Casco Bay for inspiration. If that didn’t work, I’d leave the building and walk around the block. My office was near the Portland Museum Art off Congress Street, which I often referred to as “Crazy Alley” due to the amount of transients with bizarre behavior begging for money. This was always a swift kick in the pants that I needed to return to my office to get some work done.

Since being laid off in May, my home version of Crazy Alley includes a Jack Russell Terrier, Tipper, and two cats, Stormy and Penny. They certainly aren’t homeless but each have their own bouts of craziness while they beg for food.

The life of a freelance writer and editor can get lonely pretty fast, so today I took advantage of a sunny fall day to hit the Eastern Trail on mountain bike. Nothing beats fresh air before the long Maine winter sets in, and today it’s just the colorful leaves falling on the trail and rush of cool air through the bike helmet.

At about mile 2 my writing brain starts to kick in, with topics ranging from the anger of being laid off to the joys of not having to commute anymore or deal with office politics. The problem with writing brain and being on a bike is there’s no way to harness the ideas. I decide it’s best to stop at a bench and enter a few notes into the iPhone.

Eastern Trail bridge over I-95, Kennebunk.

My approach to mile 5 brings the realization that my legs are throbbing, and I have 5 miles to trek to get back to my car: Ugh. I dredge up the last bits of energy, switch gears to top speed, and crank on.

I begin thinking of all the editors and writers I’ve dealt with in the past 20 years who I need to reach out to. I begin my mental checklist and thoughts on how to remember the list when I get back to the office. Alphabetical? It’s worth a shot, but I get to letter “F” and forget the name that begins with letter “A”. My thoughts drift back to writing topics instead of specific names and I spook a chipmunk and narrowly miss clipping its tail. That lucky one lived to see another acorn.

To the writers I may have inadvertently clipped in my years of BtoB editing, I apologize. Somewhere along the path of fulltime magazine editing and having twins, there were some rocky moments fueled by sleep deprivation. I didn’t fully appreciate the daily struggle of finding work as a freelance writer and editor until I recently entered the freelance world myself. The only thing I can do is learn from those mistakes and move on.

I’m finally back at the car after a glorious 10 mile ride. My legs are burning and I’m starved. But I’ve got motivation to fight the blank screen and start writing.