Dare to Begin
Returning to my writing roots revealed a truth: the journey of creation starts with a single, imperfect step—daring to make a mark on the blank page.
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Returning to my writing roots revealed a truth: the journey of creation starts with a single, imperfect step—daring to make a mark on the blank page.
Before I stumbled headlong into the world of software, I dreamed of being a writer. Recently, when I realized I needed a creative outlet to remind myself that my identity is bigger than my career, I started writing again. After about nine or ten false starts, I’m seven chapters into a YA novel.
At first, it was brutal, y’all. I’d stare at the blinking cursor on a blank page, and nothing would come out. I learned every detailed setting of Scrivener before I wrote a single sentence. Starting was impossibly hard.
I have a poster in my office of a Eugene Ware quote: “All glory comes from daring to begin.” I’ve used it as a coaching tool for years, coaxing people out of the paralysis that accompanies a pristine blank page to just start. Make a mark. Scribble. Word vomit. Make something awful. Soil that pristine blank page with the sheer audacity to make something new.
Once I finally did that with my novel—writing pages of words that I can assure you will never see the light of day—writing became much easier. (Much easier, I said… not easy. It’s still hard as hell.)
So here’s my encouragement to those of you stuck in that liminal zim-zum space just before the first bold act of creation: just start. Do something, anything, even if it’s awful. Especially if it’s awful.
Dare to begin.
In the fervor around artificial intelligence, we must not forget that creativity is more than tasks.