Lorraine Mace

Notes from the Margin — August 2010

Text Box: Blank Page Paralysis I’ve just finished the first chapter of a new novel. So what? I hear you cry. A single chapter is no big deal, you might think, but, for me, it’s the writing equivalent of climbing Everest. I don’t suffer from writer’s block because I always know what I want to write. I never run out of ideas – quite the opposite, I have a hard time keeping track of all the new thoughts that attack without warning. But what I do have is a complete inability to sit down and write an opening chapter without going through ridiculous amounts of angst. Usually I have to creep up on myself and get the words down on paper before my mind realises that my body has mutinied and taken over the good ship Lorraine. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have a head stuffed full of words, phrases, even complete paragraphs just crying out to be recorded on my computer. As for dialogue, I’ve rehearsed every word time and time again long before the first sentence is written. You might think I can’t get that first chapter written because I don’t know my characters, but I do. I know them inside out, upside down and back to front. I know how they walk, how they talk, what they like to do, who they love, what they love, what they hate, who they hate – and why. I know them as well as I know myself. So why, oh why, can I not just sit down and type the first chapter? (Answers on a postcard, please.) Sometimes I wonder if I’m suffering from a recognised mental affliction. Apart from simply being a writer, that is. I mean, surely I can’t be the only person who goes to such trouble to think up plots and then people a world with complex characters, only to find that cleaning the toilet is a more attractive option than, shudder, opening a brand new file for a brand new book. Take this latest book. I’ve been thinking about writing it for a while. The synopsis is done, the outline and treatment is done, the character studies are done. In fact, everything is done bar the actual writing. Now you might think that I have an aversion to writing, but that isn’t the case at all. I’ll have no physical or psychological problems writing the second chapter – nor with all the ones following until I can type The End. No, my problem is blank page paralysis. This morning, bright and early, I decided to start the new book. Knowing exactly how the first scene should go, I opened a new word file, confident that this time I would just write without getting my fingers in a twist. Huh, no such luck. The blank page stared back at me and dared me to defile it with words. I put my fingers on the keyboard, ready to type the opening line, and then realised that my coffee cup was empty. Let’s face it, no one can deal with that sort of challenge when deprived of caffeine. Off I went to the kitchen and gave myself a good talking to while the kettle boiled. Mug in hand, I returned to the task. I looked at the page; the page looked back in a very intimidating manner, so I thought the best thing to do was tame it by setting the margins and line spacing. Hah, that showed it who was boss. Emboldened by this show of strength, I named the file. By this time, the coffee had mysteriously disappeared, so it was time to go back to the kitchen for a top up. This time when I got back I decided to attack without thinking about what I was doing, but I only got as far as typing my name, the title and page numbers in the header before the blanket of white once again stuck its tongue out in a very disrespectful way. But I didn’t give in this time – I retaliated by writing ‘more follows’ in the right-hand footer. Now I was really on a roll and felt able to write on the body of the page itself. Taking a deep breath, I typed Chapter One – in bold. An hour and a half later, having watered the plants, phoned everyone I could think of and sorted out what we would have for dinner for the rest of the month, I finally faced my demons and wrote the opening line. Once I’d started, I only needed six breaks and several other essential distractions before I reached the end of chapter one. Now it’s done it seems ridiculous to have made such a fuss about it. I’d like to believe next time will be easier, but I’m not banking on it. Write Away! Notes from the Margin


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