Sitting with my feet propped up in a VFW hall in Alcoa, Tennessee thumbtyping on my blackberry, I ponder that familiar scene of the author hunched over his typewriter staring blankly at a white sheet of paper. The paper peers back with the same empty gaze.

I am struck with the urge to create something....anything. Maybe I'll write. Or perhaps film something. I could edit some footage. Surely I'll be able to release this energy welling up inside.

Yet, I feel like I have nothing to say. Nothing is coming out. No inspiration comes. I labor on, but to what avail? A lousy blog entry? That's it? A pile of words warped into paragraph of meaningless meandering?

I remain frustrated.

My thumbs keep flying around the tiny keyboard, spewing out letter upon letter, with me a witness and watcher hoping for something with Spirit to materialize. Will it? Does it?

The space at the end of each paragraph taunts me at every turn. It seduces me to stare and wallow in her blankness. The empty page beneath my hollow words mocks me mercilessly.

Do I need to fill the entire screen with uninterrupted streams of run on sentences in an attempt to hide it away completly? Will I have to obscure every inch of this tiny screen to defeat the demon?

Nope.

I welcome your empty inspiration. From nothing comes something. Without 'without' we wouldn't have 'with', would we? There would be no Mona Lisa without a blank canvas.

Have I killed the block? Maybe. I've at least subdued it. The itch has been scratched..... for now.