I have no idea what to write about. My head was overflowing with ideas on the way home, but it seems that they all flew away somewhere as soon as I sat down to write them. Where did they all go? It does not matter I suppose, but maybe another one will come if I try?
I am sitting, pencil hovering above the lines running across a piece of loose-leaf. I press it against the page, and watch an ornate letter come forth. That was all that came out – one letter. One intricate doodle, and five minutes gone. All right then. If writing won’t help me, maybe typing will?
As I open a new document, I already know what is going to be produced – a blank page. I stare at its emptiness, at the word count on the bottom of the screen, and type a bunch of gibberish. Some success here – the word count was raised to one. I begin to get frustrated.
Why I can’t write now beats me beyond measure. Just thinking about me trying to write and not being able to makes the situation look silly. Take a look outside, inside, anywhere – there’s so much to write about! There’s even a special genre called haiku you can write if your mind is blank! And you can’t even write a single, comprehensible word?
Okay, so maybe I can’t write a page. Maybe I’ll write a sentence about a flower? Or a pencil? Or the sky? I don’t know! So I sit there and stare.
As I’m staring into almost-nothingness, I begin to press the keys. One letter, one word, one sentence. Because suddenly, I know exactly what to write about. It’s the greatest idea ever. So, hastily, before I can forget and let it fly away, I begin,
“I have no idea no idea what to write about…”