I’m a writer. I write.
Writers don’t clean house, watch TV, or play games;
Don’t stream movies, surf the web, or surf the waves.
They don’t date, don’t draw, don’t balance check books.
They don’t raise kids, raise dogs, or raise Cain.
They don’t eat, sleep, shave, or shower.
Hygiene? Who has time?
Writers write.
My constant companion is my tablet.
It goes everywhere with me;
To work, to church, to the ball game, the gym.
And if I go to bed, it’s there with me.
My girlfriend won’t call, my dog has moved out,
It’s hard to get love from a Lap Top.
Writers write.
Six years of my life I’ve sacrificed,
Thousands of hours of work on one novel.
I will sacrifice thousands more,
Before I’m satisfied.
Will it publish? I don’t know.
Do I care? It’s a passion.
Writers write.
If there were Writerholics Anonymous,
I wouldn’t have the time to go.
I’m a writer. I write.
