What is it about a blank page that begs to be written on? Is it the fresh, new start? Is it the chance to leave a mark, a lasting impression where none exists? Is it the simple flow of ink from pen to page?
Before computers and even before typewriters, one used paper and pen to build volumes of inspirations and stories. Did the writers of old stare at a new sheet of paper with more respect than we writers today regard the next page, an easily discarded piece in our computer documents?
Do we slave and strive today to fill our pages with words that matter? Life-changing, soul-wrenching, spirit-cleansing words? Or have we become one of many medias bombarding the masses with shallow and selfish information designed to give a quick fix of entertainment satisfaction?
So many ponderings...so many words to ask one simple question. Why do we write?