I once wrote a post about the errant lover words had become. I was struggling with writer’s block, and I wondered with whom Words was canoodling as he had clearly left me. I realize now that it was not Words who left me but I who pushed him away.
Words, Writing, they are sensitive lovers. They need to feel appreciated and respected. They do not want to be the 3:00 am drunken booty call. Rather they want to be cultivated and pored over. They need to be nurtured. I had been the college boyfriend who only called after his night out with the boys. No roses. No dinner. Just a “hi baby, can you come over?” Like every self-respecting woman, Words finally stopped picking up the phone.
See, I say I am a writer. But I want to be a writer without making any sacrifices, other than sleep (sometimes). I want to fit writing into my overly ambitious To-Do list. And by fit in, I really mean put at the bottom of said list, and carry over to the next day. I rinse and repeat until a deadline looms over my head. Then, I frantically try to make magic happen. Surprise, surprise the right words won’t come at 1:30 am.
Stories and posts fly through my head as I go through my day but I won’t stop to embrace them. I assume that those words will always be there. Well, Words, like the jilted lover, has had it. He wants nothing to do with me. To get him back, I must give him quality time. No longer can I squeeze him in at 10:00 a.m. while I watch “The View” and check FaceBook notifications. He is tired of competing with “Gummy Drop” for my attention. He is done with me nodding off during our literary love-making.
So here is my writing mea culpa. I am sorry, dear Words, for taking you for granted. You are special and necessary to my life. I will carve out my day to embrace you. I will share some of my best with you rather than tossing you what is leftover. Please come back, Words. I need you.