The First Entry

When I was in my junior year of high school, I had my first creative writing class with my dear good friend Mr. Hoshaw. One of the disciplines that Mr. Hoshaw wanted us to get into, at least for the duration of the class, was keeping a writing journal and writing in it every day. While this was not my first introduction to the beauty and grace of life lived inside the composition notebook (thanks to Mrs. Thurber...maybe more on that later?) he did provide us with a revolutionary and very valuable tip. "Open up your journal," he said, as we all sat with our shiny new notebooks lying on our desks, "Take the first page, and turn it over. Don't write anything on that first page. Leave it blank." The reasoning was this: writing on the first page of a new journal can be so intimidating that some people would rather never write anything at all. (Some people may also have nervous breakdowns and run screaming from the room, but that can happen at any stage of the writing process, so we mostably ignore them) You want to sound cool and intelligent from the get go, or at least not make an ass of yourself, and so you can sit there sweating for hours trying to come up with the perfect first sentence. This effect is compounded when you remember that forever afterwards, when anyone opens this journal, these are the words that will stare them in the face. This way, there is no pressure, no attempt to sound more sophisticated and brilliant than you actually are. Suddenly, you are not at the beginning, you are just tossed into the mix, and from there you're liberated to simply write like mad. Welcome, friends, to the beauty and freedom of the blank first page.