the business of writing

There are times when you just stare a lot
at the radioactive monitor
the dirty white ceiling
the cracks on the wall covered with calendars, photos and notes.
You plead to The Powers for inspiration
and still the words won't come out.

Well, sometimes they do
But they're not the words you're looking for
So you press that button
And watch the letters disappear one by one
Until all that's left
is a blank document.

You let out a tired, frustrated sigh.
Procrastinate a little.
Okay, maybe a lot.
And then start again.

And it's all the same.

Minutes, hours, even days pass.
The words are still wrong.
Back arrow. Back arrow.
Delete. Delete!

The cursor blinks back at you
Taunting you again to
-----------------------Write. Write. Write!
It's an exercise in patience.

You hate that your muse is fickle.
Unreliable. Perpetually late.
But then again, you know she'll come
Usually, just before that damn deadline.

Day 29. Here she comes now
Such blinding radiance!
You burn
And the words just flow out of you
---The keyboards ticking nonstop
Sweet, sweet music to your ears

You find yourself creating
Such a lovely composition

But then the phone rings
Your stomach growls
or your neighbor's smelly old dog barks

A nanosecond of distraction
A break in your rhythm
You lose sight of your muse
And come face to face with

Your work.

Priceless?

No.

More like a piece of trash.

You feel like your forehead is bleeding
You thought it was good.
You thought wrong.

And your muse, oh your muse!
That deceitful little b----
-ewitching thing.

Fine, it's not that bad.
Just not good enough.
So you erase that line.
Insert an adjective.
Reconstruct that paragraph.

You sigh. Relieved now
that at least you have something:
A draft.

The first of many, anyway.

This is what I learned from
teachers
bosses
friends.

That writing is rewriting
And rewriting and rewriting...
Until you finally get it right.


~11.24.07~