I had coffee with a writer who, for as long as I've known her, has taken the process of writing much too seriously. She waxed poetical about semi-mystical notions of creative energy and philosophical meanderings. "The blank page terrifies me," she said, tapping her forefinger nervously on the side of her cup. "I think I have writer's block."
"Maybe thinking too much about the process is causing it," I said mildly. "It's not that complicated. You just sit down and write."
"But how do I start if my mind is a blank?"
"If your mind is a blank, then you don't have anything to say. You have to know what you want say before you can actually write anything."
She gave me a look. I finished my espresso. The dogs barked, and the caravan moved on.