if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
— Charles Bukowski, so you want to be a writer?
I know I’m wasting my time.
Instead of this ‘work’ thing, I should be writing.
I am, if you can call my pith blog posts and those I create on Substack ‘writing but it’s not really writing; or not the type of material that’s going to earn me a place in the pantheon of worthies, lest still bring home more than a very small amount of $ — and not enough to keep the good ship ‘Summerhayes’ afloat.
For the record, it’s quite deliberate that I quote again from Bukowski’s well-worn, well-rehearsed poem.
He was right, though.
If all the things that he was opining on didn’t or hasn’t happened, then there’s a cogent case to say:
pack it in.
But something, don’t ask me what, continues to eat away at my very soul, and despite the waning of my days, exhorts me to give it one more go.
And I will.
Oh. Yes. I. Will.
I think that’s code for saying: I’m willing to sit and wait for the triumphant muse one more time, and even if there isn’t a great outpouring of publishable material, I’m still content to know that I might only have one book or poem in me.
Until the next time.
Love,
Julian