Sunday, January 5, 2014

Indulging in Writers’ Woes, One & Two

"Be my cohort in verses," invites a poetic friend
While another reminds "You know, gentle vet stories are in trend."
Both unaware of the extent of my tumultuous soul
That makes me, in my luscious donutty life, see only the gaping hole
Left behind by the unexplainable itches & urges to write
For breakfast, lunch, and at night
When normal folk want to make love
But me, I am agonized by writer's blues, can't explain how.
Morning, evening, every waking, and every sleeping hour
Memories sprout, ideas bloom, like wild, spring flowers
Alas, no paid writer am I
Just a lowly perpetual student, sigh!
The irony:
If I spend half the time I dream and think about writing on my writing
And the other half on my Ph.D. citing
I would be more accomplished
And quite published
But alas, time management I have never grasped
Although its importance, many harped.
But I am digressing,
I intended to mention, to all friends of mine, without much buttressing
That er, um, hrrm, hum, if I may, have one, er, story out!
There I said it come what may
Leaving modesty, humility, all at bay
First-time writer's pride I cannot hide
'Twas the apple that I eyed
And therein lies writers’ woe two.
It comes after you steal time and write, phew!
Of course, it is the big question:
How does a writer share her arted, crafted fiction
With the seemingly busy, uncaring outside world
Without being thought of as shamelessly, self-absorbedly bold?
(But then, Reading as Power, never fails
So therein my altruistic part, I thee hail
To set me free with a sort of bail
From this other of novice writers’ ails.)
Lucky popular writers have their publishing houses
Do their dirty work for them without any grouses.
But no-name ones like me,
We learn to come right out, you see
And blurt out loud,
As above,
“I have a story out! Would you like to read?”
And gentlefolk, God bless their souls, always, even when taken aback, say oh, so graciously, “Of course! Your story, we’d love to read.”
And in those gentle, tender words, this restless writing soul of mine knows
Its moment of peace is in sight.

© Malathi Raghavan, 2000

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