Even when you believe that you have no story to tell, peel apart the fleshy pink undersides of your brain and untangle the red-and-blue vines that wrap around your heart until you find the words you thought had escaped you.
Purchase notebooks, pens, and pencils. But don’t purchase erasers. Erasing your thoughts forces them into oblivion. It reduces them into only bits of rubber on a wide, naked expanse that you could have used to flesh them out into breathing, crying, laughing characters and stomach-tossing, chest-pounding stories.
Don’t you see how using erasers is tragic?
Instead, leave your imperfect thoughts on the page. Scratch through them — carefully, so that you don’t obscure them. Cultivate these infertile words. Use them. Fallow them. Watch different — greener, stronger — thoughts sprout from what you would have laid to waste.
Letter delicate curlicues into the cream-colored pages of a Moleskin journal…
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