Writers’ Angst by Roy Dimond
I love the how he describes the writer’s life. Can’t say that I have ever experienced the demons that he describes…but I can imagine anyone trying to write a novel going through many of these writing contortions.
The writers’ life is simple enough, we write. We often sit in perfect writing locations with birds chirping spring songs from window sills and poplars swaying ever so gently across verdant fields. From behind antique windows perched high above craggy cliffs, we stare down at the mighty Atlantic crashing with white winter froth on the serrated rocks below. Others slave in dank, dark corners away from family and friends – obsessed. We hunch over paper with pen, typewriter or keyboard, hands shaking like the addict staring at the needle. We fondle our chosen utensil, hating what we have become, fragile without our fix – and so we write.
We shall not call it war because the empty page and the writer need each other. While one mocks with its virgin surface, the other desires to scar it with letters and words. We become lost to the mortal world for years…
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