>> Tuesday, July 5, 2011
To those days when I wonder why it is that I keep struggling to put pen to paper, fingers to keys in some semblance of literary contortionism...I pout and spew sentences hoping for the wordplay to hit a bullseye.
Why is it that I or you write? What keeps you creating pages of posts when the traffic meter suggests that no one is watching? How do we keep our spirit unbroken knowing that publishers are not going to stumble onto to our messages of wit and witticism?
I write to keep the demons imprisoned on paper instead of raining about. I write to aspire, inspire and justify.
I write to put on a purple cape and tiara and wave my hand queen-like and poised instead of bohemian and borrowed.
I write to cut the distance and fill the trough. I write to unravel strings and millennia of being misunderstood.
I write about who I am, who I'm not and who I want to be.
Because no one has written the epic I want to read.
I write because I’ve a vocabulary which can't be caged, defanged or tamed.