The pristine page spreads before her, inviting and intimidating at the same time. Does she have what it takes to turn white empty paper into something of worth? Does she have what it takes to get it done by deadline?
She picks up her pen and places the point on the page. A furrowed brow accompanies a chewed on lip. She lays the pen back down. Maybe some tea or coffee first or even chocolate, to get the brain cells jumping.
It has been a long time since she has been stuck for a topic to write about. Usually ideas flow smoothly, like baby oil on skin, for her. It’s been a long time since the dreaded wall that writers fear, has blocked her creative genius.
As she puts water on to boil, she idly notices how much white there is around her. The common appliances of her home, lack the latest trend in flashy colors. Refrigerator,stove, countertop, even teakettle, all as white as the empty page mocking her from her white Formica table. She rummages in her tea basket and comes across an as yet, unopened box of white tea, a gift her friend has raved about.
“It’s a conspiracy” she mutters, “All I need are some of those white chocolate macadamia nut cookies to go with this.”
She carefully, thoughtfully, arranges her tea and cookies (she found the Pepperidge Farm bag hidden behind the flour canister where her husband would never think to look) and sits at the table gazing out the window. The steam from the teapot has caused a lovely fog on the glass making the rain outside appear mysterious.
She sips her tea, nibbles her cookie and again picks up the pen. Nothing comes to her.
She pushes her chair away from the table and stands. Maybe she needs activities to allow her brain to relax and set the thoughts flowing. She could start dinner. Potato Soup sounds wonderful for a wet cold day like today.
She turns on the radio and peels the potatoes. Looks up in utter disbelief as the song “Nights in White Satin” comes on. “Well, I never!” She sings along with Moody Blues as she wonders at this odd theme of white swirling around her.
“It’s a little spooky” she declares to Jinx, her cat, who is not white but rather jet black and has appeared from out of nowhere, as cats are prone to do, and is winding himself around her legs. She looks at her sweatshirt. “I’m even wearing white!” She mulls on this, not really sure why it even matters, but for the fact that white seems to be the common denominator of this day.
As the soup simmers, she returns to her still blank page.“Maybe I should write about white?" The question falls to an empty room. Jinx has disappeared.
She ponders the idea. A silly notion, what kind of story could she concoct using white as a topic? She mentally makes a list. The White House, white people, The White Sox, White Collar Workers; all quickly rejected. Snow White, white wine, white noise; she toys with each of them before casting them aside as well. The White Sands of New Mexico--she visited there with her parents’ years ago and the vast dessert of sand as white as snow had amazed her. Story material does not arise from the memory however. “Maybe I should be thinking black.”
As she gazes around the room her eyes fall on her calendar. She notices the red circle around next Saturday. It will be the 15th anniversary of when Barry asked her to marry him. Even after all these years, the proposal it is still one of her favorite stories to tell. It took place at one of their most loved places; the White River Falls.
“White River Falls?” the coincidences of this color theme and where it has led, amaze her. “I think we’ve got something here!” she crows and picking up her pen, the words begin to flow.
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