Words tumbled from his fingers and pooled upon the page
Irrigating the fertile ground allowing new thoughts to take root
Slowly those ideas grow tall and strong, awaiting harvest
Examining his crop, he began harvesting those who’s time had come and pruning the rest
People, can I ask all y’all a question?
Or would you like to keep your opinions to yourself
Lol I’ve seen your Facebook page
Looks like your dying to let the world know, so sit down and answer
But the plot will come if you just type words. You just have to believe.
Like that would really happen. He laughed bitterly.
All it meant was the letter vomit on the page might be some sort of Rorschach story form.
He closed the document and went to bed. He had seen enough.
When sitting down in front of her computer
Olivia began her daily penance
Dancing on the keyboard
Crafting new realms from the ether
Outpouring her imagination onto the page
Until she felt she could write no more that day
Nanowrimo would push her to become the writer she wanted to be
That or break her will to write till New Years.
Rallying all his reserves, Fannie pushed on
Every time the pen touched the paper
Doubt in her teaching competence would grow
It was always soul-crushing being an impartial arbiter
Now her hands were covered in the remains of her grading rubric
Killing her will to continue as her soul bled out on the page
Finding the right words to say
Letting them linger on the tongue
And then hurling them onto the page
Viscous remnants of enlightening ideas
Obscuring their true deeper meaning
Removing all taste from the text
How hard is it to slay my story?
All I can do now is bleed out on the page.
Can’t even make a good stab at it
Killing me that I might only be a …
Wrestling with an empty page
Inscribing my soul in black and white
Putting it out there naked for all to see
Energy dripping from open wounds
Determined to finish before I fall asleep