There have been many times

when I thought, I was going to do it,

but either

the passion wasn’t enough

or the discipline wasn’t there

or I was too sleep deprived

or too fat

or the distractions were unbearable

or my spirit was weak

or my creativity shot

and it never got done.

The brain is slowly reshaped by our habits

and if we do something every day, we become what we do,

pushing up against

what we thought impossible

for one more hour.

Force, won’t get me there

It has to be love

but I get tired of loving things

so it must be many things—

a need, not to be bored

a sick aspiration, to fulfill my potential

to prove myself

to have a career, I approve of.

I must be commercially viable—prolific and entertaining

It isn’t so much, the money

but the ability to bring something new to the masses.

Skills breaks down, without repetition

If you can’t do it in your sleep, you can’t get it done

Being excited for something every day, is the goal

It’s gambling on yourself, by creating a winning ticket

It’s knowing that you’re getting older, and you still don’t have anything to show for it

Love quickly becomes hate, if it’s forced—so a writer must find what they love

and create that.

When you push-up against time

time pushes back.

Limitations laugh at you

Your mind

can’t find

a way to end your story.

There aren’t enough details

Self-doubt creeps in,

like an insidious spider

but you trust

that you can’t do anything else,

and stomp that arachnid into the floor.

Find a way

to change yourself—

That is the only way.

That’s when 7 AM becomes 7 PM

If someone saw you

they would imagine you

to be lonely,

but this can’t be true

for the writer.

He sits down

with his imaginary friends

and holds

high tea.

2 thoughts on “The Writer Sits Down with Imaginary Friends and Holds High Tea.

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