This screen is blank.
Now that I’ve typed four words, it is less blank.
At present, there are 14 words on the screen, and I can relax a bit. I will still be concerned about the order of the words, how well they flow, how well they convey my idea, my mood, my Right Now. But the more I type, the less overwhelming everything seems. I must keep typing.
A blank screen is intimidating. I always worry that no matter how well I beat back the last one, I won’t be able to do it again. The last one may have resulted in the greatest batch of words ever splattered over a blank screen, but that doesn’t matter. There is now this new one to contend with.
I despise you, you blank screen, you. You are a sonofabitch.
It doesn’t matter how many times I come up against you. You’re always there. Always empty. Always taunting me, saying, “Don’t think you can fill me up again. Not with anything that’s any good.”
The blank screen says, “Walt, I dare you…seriously. Because no matter how much you type, I will always be blank. I extend into infinity with my blankness. Type all you want. There is nothing but blank me ahead.”