A Writer's Life For Me



A little something I whipped up the other morning. Enjoy!

The Writers Life For Me

I found this note waiting for me on my laptop this morning.


Dear Writing,

Well I, for one, like it first thing in the morning as much as anyone, before the sun is even up, when I am half here, half there. Undulating waves begin as I roll over, still in that twilight zone between awake and asleep. I do so like being nudged awake by a whispered desire, a half articulated word, a mere touch of an idea, inspiration softly breathing on the back of my neck. I collapse into the intoxicating sensations, allow them to wash over me, fill me, carry me, do what they will to me. I surrender utterly to the All of it until such time as the crescendoing waves are through toying with me, toss me to shore wrung out, used up, depleted. THEN I roll out of bed and I write.

However, I do NOT respond well to tyrannical demands.

Dear Writer

I do not think I have the patience for all that, I want you right here, right now!!

Dear Writing

Patience is the key to attaining most, if not all,  goals. Haven’t you ever heard, It’s all about the Journey?

Dear Writer,

I have and that’s poppycock!! I tell you I will explode inside you like no one ever has before or will again, if you will only allow me. I will not be thwarted!

Dear Writing,

Tsk, tsk. There are things you must come to understand if this relationship is going to work.

  1. It’s not always what you want, when you want it.
  2. Wooing me is the most conducive path to attaining what you want.
  3. Make foreplay your forte and you will never be disappointed.

Dear Writer,

Whatever are you talking about???!!

All I understand is you are wasting our time with crazy quips and clever phrases “woo me” and “make foreplay your forte”!!

You and I both know you want me as bad as I want you!! This need, desire, hunger, call it what you will, it threatens us both if it is not satisfied immediately. So what’s this coy and demure game you are playing? Just last week you were begging me for it and now this!! Madame, I do not appreciate your wit one bit!

Dear Writing,

Last week, hell last night, I did want you to come to me. I wanted it oh so much it was unbearable! But alas! I was so overwhelmed with chores and dishes, laundry and laments I was unable to properly respond to you when you did finally arrive. What I wanted, what I needed, both then and now, is the distraction you bring to my life. The way you sweep me up and carry me off, if ever there is a knight in shining armor you would be the one for me. What I need is for you to be there always whether it’s good for me or not; whether you want to be or not; whether I beg for you to not.  What I want from you is consistency, not this fickle way you have developed of late, this demanding, brooding, pouting partner you have turned into. It’s not always about you, that’s what you have to understand. I matter too, what head space I’m in, what else is also presently demanding my undivided attention, or whether or not I’ve had more than a couple hours of sleep. These things matter to me as they should to you. Without me, Your story would not be told, Your voice would not be heard and no one would even know YOU exist.  I need you to breathe fire and ice into me. You need me to breathe life and form into you. We need each other.

Dear Writer,

You do make valid points. I have only you, only always you, on which to focus my undivided time and attention. Sure I could find another equally suited and just as capable of doing for me what I need but I choose you for a reason. I admit, perhaps, I can be jealous of your time away from me. Maybe I have been somewhat capricious in my response to your desire of me of late.  Perhaps, when finally you do at long last turn to me, call for me, reach out for me I am withdrawn and unavailable, perhaps. I will admit to being vindictive and spiteful, sometimes. What you need to understand, this demanding, brooding, pouting partner of yours is this way because of your fickle heart. One minute we are locked away for hours, days sometimes weeks on end. You respond to my every demand with mad haste. You anticipate and then meet my needs before I can fully form the thought. We are in sync, as mating flamingos dance so too do we move in rhythm and harmony. It is pure magic, ethereal bliss and I am overjoyed beyond words.

Then the moment is cruelly ripped away, an intruding thought is thrust in between us, your attention diverted, your mind no longer focused entirely on me. I am left gasping for air, grasping for further expression of desire and you are gone. Just like that, abruptly leaving me hanging in mid-air, mid-thought, without a second thought or backward glance. You just set me aside and walk away before I reach the uttermost entirely, leaving me unfulfilled, dissatisfied, dazed and confused.  I can only take so much of that, it’s hard you know! So yes, I pout and brood.  And yes, sometimes I will take my own sweet time responding to your call when you do, at long last, remember me.

Dear Writing,

Oh dear! It is a pickle we find ourselves in. I crave your attention as sorely as you demand mine. I need you in order to feel truly loved and desired as you need me for Life itself. Whatever are we to do? I am neither a machine nor an island in a stream. I am physical and physical needs therefore must be met. I have other responsibilities, other duties, hell other relationships which must be addressed, at least from time to time. Sometimes I fantasize about us, just the two of us, locked away from the world and all its ceaseless demands on my time and attention. I imagine what it would be like to embrace you so totally, so completely that time stops and Now (and us) becomes all there is or ever will be. That synchronicity whereof you speak, being in our Eternal moment, forever and always, uninterrupted. Nowhere to be, nothing to do but lie in your embrace, swept away by our longing, caught up in our passion, succumbing to our ravenous appetite and there I hesitate to go any further.

For my dear Writing, your demands are so copious, your expectations run so high, you crash into me with such force I fear one of these days I will be forever lost if I permit you to devour me as you wish with no limitations or interruptions. I fear for my mind and my sanity feeling they are in great danger of being engulfed by you. I fear for my heart and soul, that they are being traded for a bag of silver if I am overwhelmed by you. Most of all, I fear for my flesh and blood that it is unable to withstand your ceaseless demands on my time and attention. That try as I might I am never enough, that you are always going to be dissatisfied, demanding more, taking more until there is nothing left of me to give.  Leaving me a dried up shell of my former self alone in a dark attic, smothering in an avalanche of paper piles, food for the rats and my carcass home to spiders. That is what I fear the most. No wait, what I fear most is my mind caving in on itself, folding over and over and over again in an ceaseless loop, playing out our affair and blocking out all else. No wait. What I truthfully fear the most is that you will abandon me altogether leaving me without passion or purpose, rhyme or reason.

Do you see what you have done to me? Do you understand my pain and conflict now? Do you see how fragile I am? How weak and foolish I have become that even the slightest attention from you and all else is abandoned in my world? My knees buckle, my forehead beads with sweat then my breath becomes shallow and quick. So I repeat myself. Woo me, make foreplay your forte. Allow me some sense of control. Help me ease out of my fears gently so I may immerse myself into you completely without reservation, hesitation or looking back. This I need from you. 

Dear Writer,

I now better comprehend your point of view, so eloquently stated. Although I can’t perceive anything erroneous by being locked away with you without interruption never-ending, for that is my supreme fantasy, I suppose I can appreciate how it could seem alarming to you, capitulating to such a firestorm of passionate desire. If woo you I must, to set your fears to rest, if that is what I  must do to have you then that is what I will do, another time. All this pillow talk has created quite the fever within me so please, for the love of all that is holy, I beg you.

Please do me! Right here, right now. On the kitchen table, in your bed, on the couch. Hell, I’ll even take the floor in front of the TV, I don’t care. I just need you to do me like I’ve never been done before.


Your Writing

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