The Blank Page

Writing... Ahhh, the tyranny of grammar wandering around words... then plucking them from the tree between my ears... pounding the keys until they are packed into the mold of a paragraph... arbitrary emotions distilled... nowhere to go but to the end of the page... another sheet... another look at it and wondering how I could have ever made that mistake or used that word or put it in that order and rereading it as though it wasn't written by me but some stranger that sat here yesterday. 

I'm not afraid of the blank page. You know what they say about fools rushing in where angels... fuck angels! You timid invisible androgynous messengers from on high... gimme inspiration from something earthier than ethereal babel. Gimme something real on the page... an emotion... an action as plausible as nonfiction fiction... as beautiful as J.K.'s prosey. 

C'mon, Muse, you're supposed to call the shots here. Fifty years ago I might have called out to you and exclaimed in the dark by the light of a single bare bulb in a cheap hotel room but these days I am a slave to spell & grammar check on keys I touch gently lit by the screen of the monitor into the night with no need for white-out and run-on sentences go wild that will never get past, or passed by, the editors. And, besides,there ain't no such thing as a cheap hotel room in this town.

Now please, I'm asking politely... Don't tame my pen... Don't call it to order! Let these words come up from the earth where human beings live... Please, don't get in my way with your high-minded literary posh academia piffle. I'm weary of editing and rewrites capping the volcano inside my heart just to please you. Let them rage... let them cry and laugh... let them be! Tell ole Pharaoh to let my words go!

There... I'm going to get back to work on my novel... thanks for listening.