We all know the feeling--after months of hard work on a piece we are finally happy with, after years patching together and polishing a book draft, after the letter of acceptance arrives or the bound evidence is there, tangible, in our hands, we get up the next morning and look at the blank page.

The cursor is blinking. But the well is empty.

How, then, do we continue not only to face but to conquer that blank page? Perhaps a better question is why.

Writing is often like stumbling through a dark room. We feel along, we fumble, sometimes we stumble, and then click--we find the light switch. The promise of those light switches are what push me through my darkest writing moments (and days, and weeks...). I constantly remind myself that the only way to get that dazzling brightness, the joy and surprise of clarity, is to flail around in the dark. And so it is those potential chandeliers, bare bulbs, ceiling fans, or modern swedish orbs that keep me searching.