Returning to the line’s promise, “new ink awaits” names hope as a craft, not a mood. Dickinson often framed hope as active presence—“Hope is the thing with feathers” (J254)—singing through storms rather than denying them. Likewise, “Tell all the truth but tell it slant—” (J1263) reminds us that a fresh angle can free a stalled tale. Therefore, when a chapter drains you, turn with trust: the unwritten page is not emptiness but capacity, waiting for your next, truer sentence. [...]
