Writing hell
by Chiwan
The last two days have been the most painful ones I’ve had in a while in regards to writing. Last night I just couldn’t take it and crawled into bed, afraid that everything would disappear, my wife and our dog.
Judy says I always get this way when I’m nearing a writing deadline.
It’s just hard to see the purpose today. If I finish this piece, then what? When does it stop?
Here’s a few lines I wrote today because I couldn’t think of anything else:
this poem is about my wife.
this poem is about my father.
this poem is about the universe.
this poem is about me.
this poem is about this sleepless night.
this poem is about how some things are eternal.
Comments
[...] sure I am proud. I am proud of my book and the poems in it. I am proud of the title piece, “The Flood,” the damn epic poem I’ve been working on, choking on, for some stupid fucking reason for the past 8 years or so, a 50-page (so far) poem [...]
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