She takes a page from her favourite book and concentrates, masterfully so
It’s been a while since she’s had any real urge to write but this needs to happen
People have been asking, so much as longing for something
Anything to read, to slide inside of another life but their own – like she has always known, it’s the smart and creative people, the ones with an outright ability to breathe each and every single word
She wants to please them, yet it can be terrifically difficult even at the best of times
Of course it’s all that she has ever wanted to do, cannot help it really
She’s studied all of the greats, slid inside of their particular lives and wrestled her own demons ’til they slumber quite silently
To those who say that reading a great book can be like your very own private psychologist, they’re right
These are the moments when a story truly can take on a life of its own, for good or bad – in a manner which begs belief actually
She’s a perfectionist and that in itself can prove a dreaded existence, perilous even, if you’ll believe that
Ever the struggling writer then
She must try and permit herself this time and space to stretch her own imagination a little more
To make the words she does choose to use speak to her, dance, goddamnit, dance… but this is the problem, one word used all too often, a wrongly placed punctuation mark and her body will shake and shudder ’til so uncomfortable it’s rather unnatural
At least from the outside peering in
To her, however, it feels incredibly natural, preposterously so
To have created that best seller along the fantastic lines of Harper Lee might be nice, something that she has always dreamed about – a book to make To Kill A Mockingbird appear rather average in comparison, a meshed together piece of fiction albeit undoubtedly good and telling in its own right
She wouldn’t dare take anything away from Harper, the reclusive genius that she is
Dreamers, huh?
But it’s there, so they say
So many readers have stood by her side, pushed her in constant support to write all kinds of marvellous
She just needs that belief, that thing that makes her feel every next line, not to see big and small words but rather their meaning for all its worth
She thinks she has it but realises that if it’s going to be good it will have to be great, and if it’s going to be great it will have to be unputdownable
Why in the name of Christ couldn’t she have been a painter… or a musician!!
No one turns up at the parties for writers
She clutches her wine, closes her eyes and knocks it back
If there was ever a time to put her trust in God then it is now, and she hasn’t been inside those doors for twenty years
Damn hypocrite