So You Want To Be A Writer

Did you think it was done
By strangers in garrets?

It’s done by people like you and me,
In spare rooms and coffee shops.

Did you think it required
A college education, or maybe a Clarion?

Well, you need to be able to read and write.
Anything else is gravy.

Did you think it would win you
Fame and fortune?

It might. But mostly you’ll scrimp, while
People laugh and ask about your “real job.”

Did you think it happened on its own,
Like mushrooms magically appearing overnight?

A novel takes about as long to make as a baby,
With all the attendant sweating and screaming.

But it will take you to worlds that never were,
Or are elsewhere, or may yet come to be.

It will leave you crawling through library stacks
Seeking books about catapults and astrogation.

It will wake you in wee hours, send your
Still-dreaming fingers scrabbling for pen and paper.

It will pursue you, and consume you,
And transform you.

Did you think it would let you get away
Now that it’s got a taste for you?

Think again.

Copyright ©2005 by Elizabeth Barrette