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To be a writer,
you have to be shameless.
Or just shameless enough
to feel nervous sometimes.

You have to be free.
Free enough to at least know
what freedom felt like

You have to be the kind of person
that never plays games,
even when you take your son in the woods
for an all night Wampus cat expedition.

You have to be someone that believes
not only in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny,
but in the Noid and the thing that was supposed
to be in the pumpkin patch in that Charlie Brown cartoon.

As you wrap the hidden presents on Christmas eve,
and fill a basket with candy
during the wee hours of Easter morning.

But more than any of that stuff,
you have to be willing to go to prison
in your parents' basement if need be.
Or live off your wife's internship for a president you'd never vote for.
Or cut yourself a few times along your inner thigh,
just to know what it is that drives those people
that can't live without dying a little in public.

Or, at any rate,
you have to be the kind of person
just bad enough at math
that having to learn to count money is a far worse fate
than being chained to an out-of-date typewriter
for an entire adult lifetime,
with no backspace function,
and the letters worn off the keys.

The original post can be found here.
I didn't miss this one first time round and it very much deserves to be in the spot-light It's one of those you can keep going back to, thanks Rowens


I never know why anything would be liked by anyone else. That last poem that was put in here involved a dog briefly, and a young girl being molested. And I thought that was what drew readers in. So I made many poems with dogs dying, and young girls being exploited by well-intentioned narrators.

Since I know nothing about professionalism, since I've actually been told that by those that know: I can only figure that this poem was put here because I'd just posted a poem called Confessional, and this one is called professionals, and Leanne is just savvy like that.

But I'm glad TimeOnMyHands likes it. He normally has pretty good taste.
Your post has me grinning.

It's a beauty, rowens.


Well I lied about killing dogs and exploiting young girls because I thought it attracted readership. I would have made those poems anyway.
(11-10-2013, 04:55 AM)rowens Wrote: [ -> ]Well I lied about killing dogs and exploiting young girls because I thought it attracted readership. I would have made those poems anyway.

It is tough to argue with a formula that includes dead.dogs and molested girls.


Growing up close to a highway and a trailer park has kept those two subjects close to my heart.
And since I write so many poems in public restrooms, I have another poem that mentions restrooms somewhere I might post sometime.
I have to say, this is probably the most that I've ever liked a poem about writing. I love the relaxed, conversational tone -- I feel like this helps the poem make a direct connection to the reader. It feels like I'm being let in on secrets -- of the trade, of life.

The last stanza is dynamite, and ever so true for me.

So, thanks for sharing. big hug big hug big hug