It’s this goddamn blank page. I’m sitting here, pencil in hand and this sheet of paper is mocking me with its whiteness. It’s so clean. Pristine. Pure.
And now I’m supposed to take the pencil to it, graphite! Goddamnit, graphite! Carbon! That’s nothing else than coal. Dirt! I feel like a barbarian smearing around with mud more than anything else. I don’t want to ruin this clean paper. It’s just a blank sheet, but it has this beauty to it. As I said, it’s as clean and pure as freshly fallen snow. I’d hate to destroy it. I hate myself for destroying it.

But I have to. Paper, I’m sorry, I have to. World, I’m sorry for ruining another pure piece of you.
But I have to. There is a story I have to tell, to write down, bring to paper, and if it kills me I have to do it. Paper, the death of your purity, the end of your virginity will be honored and mourned, but there is no other way. This has to happen.