FEAR OF A BLANK CANVAS

As a writer, the blank canvas is the most terrifying thing in the world.

It can be everything� or nothing. It can be transform into the best piece of work you�ve ever done, or the worst. And sometimes, even when you�ve got great source material, and you try really hard, and you really want this to work, you still come out with something that just doesn�t �fly�. Well. It flies the way that stones do � towards gravity.

Some of the things I�ve written have been brilliant, and I haven�t tried to be brilliant. I just sat and typed, with no clear idea of where I was or where I was going, and genius came out. Other times, despite feeling inspired, prepared, confident of my own genius, I sat down and typed, and all I got was a pale imitation of some vague talent. I felt like a child behind the wheel of an automobile : I knew what I wanted this machine to do, I just had no idea how, and I was scrabbling on the floor looking for sweets to ease the pain.

Writing about what works and doesn�t work is like trying to nail jelly to the ceiling. It can�t be done. If there was some scientific formulae then I assure you, we�d all be the best writers in the world, because all you had to do was follow the code, such as :

The most important thing is to start writing. Even if what you are writing is gibberish you need to attain the rhythm and the practice of writing. When faced with writers block, or inspirational cramp, or the sudden knowledge that everything you�ve done is complete nonsense, the art of persistence, and continued effort makes competent. When Vogons started writing poetry, it was even worse.

And great writers don�t become great by spending months not writing, or doing the washing up, or watching that really interesting programme on television, unless your next work is actually a Coronation Street spinoff novel for Granada. Even then, I wouldn�t be convinced you�re doing research.

Fear of the empty page becomes loafing to avoid it. To avoid the fact that one has written nothing, one writes nothing. Avoiding writing can be as addictive as crack. It can be a pastime in itself, just trying to avoid the empty page.

It�s not about being a writer, because writers are famous for having written. It�s about the art of writing. It�s about actually doing the graft of writing : typing out words, which is actually physical labour of a type that is dying out. And no one can convincingly claim their a writer until they suffer from RSI, of Writers Cramp that comes only through writing two thousand words an hour for ten hours. For example, William Goldman often locks himself away and writes a book in a month. Philip K Dick once wrote eight books in a year, though his brain was frazzled on LSD, and towards the end of that year, he was churning out drivel like the dreadful Vulcan�s Hammer.

Aside from the physical act of writing, writers must also be able to make it up on the spot. For example, I have no idea what the next paragraph is going to look like, or what it�s going to start with. I�m just going to hit �Return� and start typing.

But I do know now, because I�ve already leaped onto it. And I had you fooled into thinking I know what I�m talking about, but I don�t. If you�ve read this far you probably know I don�t have a clue what I�m talking about, but figure it might be interesting to watch me try and juggle another few hundred words out of this.

And that�s another way that a writer conquers their dearth of inspiration : not to write about anything, but to just have a meandering, improvised style that touches upon everything and nothing. That sounds like the random babblings aof some vaguely interesting person talking to themselves.

So� writing. How does one do it? One starts with an idea, however dimly formed in their mind, starts writing, and just keeps going until one hits the end. Like going for a drive somewhere you�ve never been before, you know you�ll get there, you don�t know exactly how, and you know that it�ll only happen if you make the effort to get there. Some people form meticulous plans in advance of their every plot twist and turn, their every move. Others just get out the map and think Hmmm� I�ll turn left at the next set of lights and see where it takes me.

It�s not about planning or not planning. Being a writer is about doing. To be a writer, you�ve got to write. And the more you do, the better you get. Just so long as you know roughly where you want to be when you arrive, you�ll get there.