This episode focuses on the struggle of the blank page. How it can seem like a hack to use pre-existing content to spring us forward to a starting point that isn't "nothing."

But it can also build limitations to create something new and exciting when boxing ourselves in with the ideas of our previous work, past notes, or even AI. What seems like a great way to jump ahead can turn into a confusing mess that feels like it's missing your own voice.

The blank page is terrifying because it mirrors self-doubt, distraction, and exhaustion. Yet prematurely searching outside oneself can narrow thinking, block new paths, and reduce creation to what already exists.

Vitality in art comes from discovery and play—a resonance between self and world—rather than repeating what’s been done. Research and AI can be useful, but the unique seed of an idea must begin from within. Even the worst rough drafts are a necessary fertilizer for growth through revision.

We end with a piece called "Where Did the Table Go?"

##Transcript

The Anxiety of Starting from Scratch

All right, I gotta write this thing. I gotta make this thing. How can I make this thing with as little time as possible? Okay, maybe I'll ask AI. Okay. I look through my past notes, I'll research what I've already done. Minutes go by. Oh, what is this? What am I, I can't, no, this doesn't make sense. Hours go by. This is a mess.

We all have things we need to create the work, the repeated work, the blank page. There's schools of thought around writing, for instance, that promise never having to work from the blank page.

We can dive into our past notes nicely cultivated, and pull out some inspiration. Or perhaps we have a project we can pull up the mighty internet or the promises of AI to outline the work for us. But then something can feel missing.

What is that? What's missing is us, the creative self. Why would we run from that? But there's some reason. That blank page can be terrifying. It holds up this mirror that says what you think you're creative? Do you think you know what you're talking about? Do you know how many other people know more than you about whatever it is you think you're talking about?

Every comment pummels us as we sit further and further back into the chair, if we can even manage to stay there. A wandering mind, ADHD or beyond can certainly find reason to run here. Distraction, exhaustion, collapse all nipping at our heels, if they haven't gotten us already.

One of our methods of relieving that tension is in the search for what's come before. Un-blank, the page.

The Complications of Pre-Existing Paths

But there's so many troubles that can come from other paths of premature search. If we look at existing research our mind is pulled to what exists. If we look at past notes, we might block new paths. If we ask AI, we really only see the average of what already exists.

Whatever it is, we lose the seed of discovery in creation and it is in discovery where we find vitality. When I play a piece of music that I've played a hundred times before without variation, there's no feeling in it. It gives both me and the audience a headache.

When I can play with a sense of finding something new, well, now we're talking. That sense of vitality comes through in the notes. That's what we're listening for. That's what feeds back on itself.

But discovery itself is only an artifact. Its vitality comes from play. Something deep within a connection and exploration of self and world reacting, but guiding. A creative building sense of fulfillment, meaning, and more. In other words, discovery is a resonance between world and self building from within.

Nurturing the Seed

It's not to say that research, previous writings or even AI should not be consulted. On the contrary, any one of these can be powerful themselves, bulging with their own caches of knowledge and more.

But the seed of an idea, a sentence, a blurry vision from within is where it all begins. While a conceived egg is tiny, it is so powerfully unique unto itself. It can gather whatever it can from womb to world, from that epicenter, all the while remaining powerfully unique unto itself.

So for a moment, it's useful to hold that tension of the blank page and see what comes to mind. Of course, you might be worried, what if it's terrible? What if there's nothing unique? What if I've got nothing to offer?

Where There is Shit There is Growth

In the wonderful words of Earnest Hemingway, "The first draft of anything is shit." And what I love about that phrase is the dual meaning. The first draft is no good for consumption. Whatever is, there is a sketch, a start, maybe even ugly.

But shit is also a fertilizer. It's what gives the ground the nutrients of growth. We need it to be there for the second and third drafts and beyond where matters flower and bloom.

We visit and revisit building and practicing facing the blank page to write again. Somewhere something is written, but beyond something changes within ourselves, as we practice, we create ourselves. And maybe that's even scarier. That's the pause for bravery. But when we can. We can start from within and go from there, because that's where it's alive.

Where Did the Table Go

Titles for music seems silly when I realize I've created a new piece. I tend to sit in silence for a moment after playing it, and I wait until some title comes to mind. Sometimes it makes sense, though many times it doesn't, and I keep crafting it. This is part of the art itself, I suppose. So while I had a previous piece called, "Where Did the Table Go?", well, this one perhaps, surprisingly, came to mind as I think I found the table. I hope you enjoy it.

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