Don't panic!

Not writing?

Take a breath.

Then take another.

This moment will pass and words will return the same way your breath returns.

The page in front of you may appear blank at the moment, but it won't stay empty forever.

You have choices, decisions to make, even when it feels as if you have none and can do nothing more than wallow in self-pity and despair, fearing you've lost your gift, and you'll never write again.

But what if the situation isn't as bleak or as dire as you fear?

What if you take these moments of not writing and, instead of panicking, lift your finger off the panic button and open your eyes to whatever is happening around you in this moment.

What do you see? A messy desk covered with papers?  A shelf filled with books? Clouds floating by?

What do you hear? A bird singing outside your window? The sound of a neighbor playing the violin?

What about your breath? Can you take a long slow inhale and feel your lungs filling up? Can you let the air out slowly through your nose?

What if you start with this moment?

What if you take a pen and open your journal to a blank page and try again.

What if you start by making a simple line.

Or a row of dots.

Or a silly doodle.

Just make a mark. Let your pen touch the paper simply to prove to yourself that you can still make a mark.

Then take another deep breath, close your eyes, and ask yourself what you feel now.

Open your eyes and ask yourself what you see.

Record what you're feeling (or seeing) in the moment.

Let your hand relax.

Tell yourself you can write for a minute. 

Or two. 

Or maybe five.

Watch how you slip out of yourself onto the page.

And how words appear out of nowhere. 

Filling the empty page again.

You end up writing when...

You end up writing when the need to write is

stronger than the fear of rejection,

when curiosity and your desire to discover

something new about yourself and the world--

and what you think and feel about it all--

is stronger than your fear of failure.

You end up writing when your voice, 

telling you that you must write, 

is stronger than all the voices in your head 

telling you to stop.

You end up writing when you cannot

not write, when it feels as essential to 

staying alive as breathing, and when writing each 

word, your hand shaping each letter on the page, 

is as vital and life-affirming as 

taking a breath.

Savor the silence

Take a moment to breathe.
Just wait before touching
your pen to the page

and let the blankness
of the empty journal
wash over you

like the waves of the sea,
like the silence of an empty house,
like the pause between breaths.

Just listen for a moment to
how the white page, not yet
filled with words,

sounds like walking through
falling snow, and not a single
footprint marks a path

and the possibilities
of where you might go
are endless.

Take a moment to breathe,
to savor the silence of
the empty page.

Just wait before touching
your pen to the page,
and then begin...