Play with Words

Much has been said about what writers should feed their head—

Mostly authors who are dead—

If they want to make that bread.

Instead, write what you like

And tell the critics to take a hike.

Don’t write to trends because they’ll end before you even begin;

Don’t groan.

Set ones of your own.

Even if it never pays,

Write anyway.

Pay no heed to those who say you need to do x, y, and z to be a “real” writer.

Why be a follower when you can lead?

Whether an all-nighter or nail-biter,

Write in whatever fashion fills you with passion

And keeps your fingers mashing.

Whether absurd or a little disturbed,

Fuck what you heard and play with words.

I did not stutter or mean to make you shudder

With that curse in my last verse.

But it was a gut check for what comes next.

Be ye a devotee of Bradbury, Lovecraft, Faulkner, Hemingway, Fitzgerald,

Tolkien;

Or a fan of Rowling or King,

Play with your words until they sing,

Until they shine like the One Ring.

Make love to your prose

Until the juices flow

 And curls your toes.

Hear what I say,

You needn’t write every day.

But when you do:

Make sure you slay.

Give it all your heart and finish what you start.

Know the world needs your words,

No matter what anyone may say to the contrary.

When words have you flummoxed as though you’re locked in a box with a bunch of crocs,

Or you feel as though you’re tall as a mouse and there’s a pox on your house,

Know your quandary is very ordinary.

Persistence is the word;

Quitting’s for the birds.

Fuck what you heard

And play with words.