Me and My Imaginary Boo
As I put away the Halloween decorations and begin NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I can’t help but think about writer’s block. There are so many times where I sit down to the blank page and try my best to pour my heart out. And…
Nothing. There’s not a bit of beautiful heart-stirring prose left. None of the award-winning language that I thought of during my commute is available to me. The new novel that I wrote in my head while running and then showering is nowhere to be found.
It sad – and as I look at the blank page, I think, I am never going to be a writer. I decided that I should be a government employee forever. Twenty years from now – when I can retire – I’ll be thankful that I have a nice, comfortable sum in the bank. As my daydream unfolds, I imagine myself in a rocking chair on my porch. As I look out across the delta (because I will retire to some sleepy southern coastal town perfect for a dysfunctional southern writer), I will think, “Why didn’t I finish that first novel?”
That image scares me enough to get out the blank page and try again.
This ability to keep trying made me realize something, Boo. You, my imaginary friend, are the person that I talk to during my commute. You are right there with me while I’m running and showering. Like the best bestie, you hang on my every word. You share my secrets. You encourage me. You give me feedback. You keep me going.
You know that writing doesn’t come easily to me. And you know that I love the process.
Most importantly, you make the stark, white page, less frightening.
As I head into NaNoWriMo month, I look forward to getting to know you better. It’s about time that I understand you – heaven knows, you know me better than anyone.