Blank Paper

I have been in a curious sort of limbo this summer; waiting for my novel that is not yet a novel to return to me from my Touchstone editor (who is wonderful-I was so worried it would be someone completely intimidating but she is lovely!) and generally not quite sure what I was supposed to be doing.  So I decided to begin work on the next book.  Seemed audacious and absurd to begin my 'second' novel when my first is in its manuscript infancy but no one here but us chickens so off we go.

After furrowing and fretting, taking a census and driving my friends bonkers (Michelle in particular was fully prepared to kill me), I finally chose my second subject and decided to leave wonderful, smokey, cosy Restoration London for early 20th Century,  pre-during-post WWI London.  Dommage.  I miss the wacky 17th Century health cures and impressive foundation garments.  

And I am now back in the research phase and am faced with...blank paper.  Lots of blank paper.  Blank paper sucks frankly.  I know that I must believe that eventually it will be covered with well organised, and cross my fingers, coherent research notes but right now it feels huge and just so...blank.  Well, the only way blank paper becomes un-blank paper is...