I can't tell you how many times I've crept onto this blog and shuddered upon seeing that my last post was written so long ago. And, as more time passed, my expectations for my next entry only grew. Not that anyone anticipated my blog comeback, but I secretely wanted it to be a triumphant return.
When I think of empty pages and the neurosis they cause even among the most confident of writers, I can't help but think of Anne Lamott's bird by bird. This book is an amazing resource for any writer; a down-to-earth, yet poignant resource for learning how to write. And, by "how to write" I don't mean where to put the commas or how to split a runon sentence. Lamott begins with the deepest basics of writing -- how to extract thoughts, visions, and experiences and simply get them on the page.
Sounds easy, doesn't it? I mean, we share our thoughts and experiences in verbal words every day. But there's something about writing it. What permanency! Suddenly, there's an unstated committment to the words you have shared; an understanding that what was once completely yours, nestled in the comfort of your head, is now on public display, vulnerable to criticism from anyone who reads it.
In the book, Lamott shares her solution: a one-inch empty frame. With each new writing assignment, she would tell herself that all she had to do was write enough to fill in that frame. By confronting a smaller beginning, she found a way to look past her fears and jump into her work. Sure, the first few paragraphs would be horrible, but they would lead to some of her best writing.
"Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something -- anything -- down on paper." (Ann Lamott, bird by bird)
In my life as a writer, I can easily relate to Lamott's struggle with the empty page; the challenge of wanting to create something that is worthy of being created... and appreciated. But I believe that all humans recognize this struggle. How many times have you delayed starting something because of how you feared it may end?
Whether it's a long-awaited manuscript, a phone call to an old friend, or a new healthy beginning, narrow your vision to the simple task of getting started. Your first effort may be a little shaky, but that small inch frame could become a window to something greater than you imagined.
For a long time I have struggled with one majorly praised virtue--not in the sense that I didn't have it, but rather that the amount I did have was often overcompensating. I could never seem to balance just the right amount of humility. 
