The Blank Page Isn’t Empty

When I sit down to write, the page in front of me is white and still, but never truly empty. It holds the weight of stories waiting to be told. Stories drawn from memory, from moments I overheard, from strangers whose eyes carried sadness they never said out loud.

I used to fear the blank page, like it was judging me and daring me to start. Now, I see it differently. It's not a void. It's a mirror. It reflects the world I carry inside—the people I’ve loved, the places I’ve left, the questions I’m still trying to answer.

That’s what fiction is for me: a way to give shape to what can’t always be said in real life. The heartbreaks we hide. The conversations we replay in our heads. The wounds that never got closure.

I don’t always know where a story is going. But I’ve learned to show up anyway. To trust that the words will come. Because the page might look blank, but it’s already full—with possibility, with truth, with me.

What about you? Have you ever stared at a blank page or screen, unsure where to begin? Share your experience in the comments—I’d love to hear how you find your voice.

Want to read how I bring these emotions to life in fiction?
Check out my upcoming book, Through Their Eyes; Through My Heart. Coming soon.