The blank page aka the white nightmare.  On parchment, the lines mock my lax beginnings. On the screen, the cursor blinks explicit expostulations.  Like most writers, my brain is near bursting with ideas, worlds, people, and situations.  Mine struggle to exit my person and live their own lives.  Keeping these imaginary friends at bay tends to feed, only, my insomnia.  However, when faced with time and the energy to create, these pals grow fickle and flee into the recesses of my brain. How do I get them to come out?  How do I encourage them the play nicely?  How do I keep them from stomping all over my compositions? Every…