Not knowing where or how to begin is the downfall of many creative pursuits. The reason so many creative projects don’t make it past the idea stage is what most writers colloquially refer to as the “blank page syndrome.” There are good reasons to dread the blank page.
You have to make decisions on what to say, how to say, and whether it’s worth saying at all. That’s a lot of cognitive overload for the brain before you even start.
Then, there’s the fear of how you will be perceived—judgment, criticism, expectations, that generate additional pressure on the brain to be perfect.
Also, the blank page has no emotional velocity. There’s nothing pulling you forward; there’s no momentum to keep going.
Ernest Hemingway understood the pitfalls of starting anew and devised a clever way to counteract the blank-page syndrome. He stopped writing mid-paragraph, sometimes even mid-sentence, when things were going well. Not because he was stuck, but because he wasn’t. He wanted to know exactly where to pick up the next day. These unfinished thoughts created momentum instead of dread.
The blank page syndrome is not restricted to writers alone; it’s a bane of all creative pursuits. Whether you’re crafting something, knitting a pair of gloves, learning music, or even watching a TV show, it’s harder to start than to keep going.
In an earlier post, I’d mentioned that psychologist Bluma Zeigarnik noticed that waiters at a Vienna restaurant remembered orders that weren't delivered to diners better than those that were already complete. She observed that while the task was unfinished, i.e., restaurant patrons were still waiting for the meals, the waiters recollected details of pending orders. But once customers got their meals, the waiters' brains marked the task as complete and didn't care to remember whether you had ordered the chef's special or the house salad.
We’re wired to keep our attention and focus on incomplete tasks. While that may sound like a drag, the good news is that it helps build momentum for our projects.
For the longest time, I thought the answer was discipline: sit down, clear the desk, finish what you start. Dot every i. Cross every t. Clean endings. Closure. But now I’ve learned something counterintuitive—it’s better to leave a starting point for tomorrow than a blank page.
It took a while for my order-loving mind to accept this. Leaving things unfinished felt sloppy, irresponsible. But it turns out it’s one of the most helpful creative habits I’ve adopted.
I’ve learned to apply this to other areas of my life too:
Every night, I write out a task list for the next day. My schedule is largely predetermined when I wake up, so I don’t spend half the day wondering what to do.
With exercise, I plan the workout ahead of time and often lay out my clothes, music, and other paraphernalia the night before. One less decision in the morning. One less excuse to avoid working out.
Creative pursuits are hard enough on their own. Why complicate them further by worrying about how to be creative?
Momentum is quieter than motivation, but far more reliable. And sometimes, the most productive thing you can do today is stop—even mid-thought—so tomorrow has somewhere easy to begin.