There's a red canvas tote on the bottom shelf of my bookcase that I pull out every week or so. I remove sheets of beautiful paper from it - one a pastel sunset on the ocean, another bordered by cartoonish flowers. All blank. Sometimes I'll pull out one of my pressed flower, natural paper notecards, admire it, remember my grandma giving it to me, consider returning the favor by writing a little note, then inevitably return it to the box. It's not that I haven't the time to write...I just fear I haven't words fit to grace these pages. I've often caved in to plain notebook paper, so as not to risk overshadowing my prose and calligraphy with the beauty on the page.

Prose hidden in the shadow.

I probably don't have to say this but...
RUN ON SENTENCES!

Still, good thoughts.  Keep working with it.