Nina Geraghty

…jumping into free fall… nothing to save me from drowning in the white page except my pen which needs to write fast to create a lifeline, an ink-line for me to cling onto. The words become stepping stones I can leap from – word to word – I jump, skip, and hop easily while the words flow smoothly from the end of my pen, forming close to each other.  But now there is a pause and oh, the next word seems too far away to leap to – I can’t quite make it out as it lies there floating flat and illegible – but I must, for already I feel the word I’m on begin to sink into the drowning whiteness of the page. So filled with fear and trepidation I leap – blindly, limbs flailing and land within painful grasp of the next word. Hauling myself up by raw fingertips, I view the horizon beyond and to my relief a whole platoon of words like islands emerge in silent formation stretching out to the edge of the page. I skip lightly across them – skimmingly, joyously. I teeter at the corner, turn over and another blank sea awaits me, waiting for me to jump, to fall, to land – on a word.

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