There is nothing more daunting than a blank page, waiting to be filled with your words.
As I sat there staring at an A4 sheet of pristine, unblemished paper, I found myself questioning the meaning of life. If I could not even put pen to paper, string a few sentences together to make sense, then what could I do? If I can't write something as simple as a short story, how was I going to make it through life?
I heaved a deep sigh, pressed the nib to the surface, began to write. Stopped. Sighed again. Sipped my coffee. I repeated this action several times before I realized that nothing was going to come of it. I needed inspiration, fresh air.
Pulling on my jacket, I grabbed my keys from the counter and headed outside.
The air was crisp and it cleared away the cobwebs in my mind pretty quickly. I started off down the path, letting my feet lead the way. Even though it was a Friday evening, there was hardly any traffic on the roads and people were few and far between.
I decided to head off down a little narrow side road and take a look in town. I still had another hour till the shops shut and there was nothing wrong with a bit of retail therapy. This part of the town was a little more secluded with giant brick buildings towering on either side of me, casting large shadows across the pavement.