Every writer runs the risk of letting their characters become so powerful that they take over their story, but sometimes the story is not enough. Sometimes the characters sneak into the writer’s waking life and start making changes of their own.
This is an audio short about a writer whose inspiration came calling for him in the middle of the night.
In each of us is a group of teamsters who’s job it is to fix the damage we do to ourselves.
From behind the scenes, they fix the sheet rock around our hearts. They scrape the fear from our foundations. They lay the pipes that make the self-deception flow to where we need it. They’re the reason we wake up feeling differently than when went to sleep. It’s their tireless efforts that keep the whole operation going.
This poem is dedicated to the unsung heroes that live in our subconscious. May we ease their burden. May we give them less and less to do as we grow older.
What if you could freeze time, hit pause, hit mute, tell the whole to just wait a minute? What would you get accomplished without the looming punch clock, without the mouths to feed, without the noise pollution? What would you do if the earth rotated on your time?
This is a short story about someone with just such an ability. Too bad for the rest of the world, frozen in time, that this person happens to be a writer.
Writer’s can take inspiration from anywhere (emphasis on the word “take”). We snatch. We grab. We are world class thieves, stealing with our eyes, lining the halls of our lairs with observations. We quote you out of context. We plagiarize real life. We sell your mannerisms on the black market. The longer you know us the less of you will be yours. We walk around with magnets in our pockets and we take everything we can carry.
This poem is dedicated to the criminal enterprise that is fiction writing. We are a guild of thieves. You will never see us coming, but we are always watching you.
Have you ever felt like you were helping someone else hurt you? Like you were relinquishing control of your life? Like you were dating a drill sergeant? Like you clocked out of one job and into another one in the guise of a relationship? Like the devil demanded your ear and you couldn’t help but give him his due?
Here’s a poem about those charming monsters we can’t help but submit to. I wrote it several years ago about a friend who let one of them consume her.