Tamela Buhrke begs forgiveness for a moment of poetic indulgence
In the beginning, was the words...
Creative. Euphoric.
Honey drizzled across your mind.
Passion. Conviction.
Path to Publication.
Words become pursuit.
Classes and courses.
Critique groups. Betas.
Black holes in my plot?
Character flaws.
Query. Synopsis?
Pitch! Knees knocking.
Self publish. . .
Edit. Format. Submit.
eBook. Voila!
I am published!
Market. Market. Market.
Blog. Tweet? Chirp. Squawk.
The next book?
Heart types. Brain sells out.
Write. Market. Blog. Write. Edit.
Red pens. Blog Reviews.
Don’t stop now. So close.
Can’t hear myself between my thinking.
Tripping. Flailing. Crash.
Breathe.
Cup of tea.
Window.
Cat.
Words float. Words dance.
My words.
2 comments:
This is about me, isn't it? :)
Very cool, Tamela. You speak to a lot of us with this post.
It's so easy to get wrapped up in the business of being an author—because it's important. But equally important is remembering the joy of the writing.
I needed to remind myself. :-)
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