Over the last couple of months I've been spending most of my time blogging and trying to establish a routine that I can stick to. So far it's worked pretty well and that's thanks to the wonderful ladies that run various linkys throughout the blogging community. Since the start of January I've ignored my book, banishing it to the archives and promising to come back - at some point. A few weeks ago I thought I would give up on it after all I'm only a housewife. Who would want to read something I wrote?
Well, it turns out I can't. Something in me won't let me forget why I started in the first place and that pesky muse has been tapping me on the shoulder for the last couple of weeks. It's time to get back to the book. This means I'll be very busy trying to edit what I already have while attempting to carry on blogging. The one thing you can count on is that I'll be here, every Thursday for #Prose4T because it allows me to be creative without the pressure of a novel. This week's poem is about me realising who I really am, probably about time right?
It is part of me, I know that now
It's who I am and here I vow
No more hiding, pretending you're not here
Glancing back and trying to be clear
I won't fight this inner need
I'll sit here and give the words to feed
Pages with prose full of truth and pain
Hearing my muse, hope she will not wane
Visions and words pop into my head
Even when I'm trying to sleep in my bed
I curse because the pen is gone
iPad in hand and switch it on
Prodding at the screen and then
Trying to go back to sleep again
On my shoulder my muse awaits
To whisper in my ear, create
This world that I've been trying to hide
Characters wondering why 'she lied'
Talking and acting in a way
I never expected, why would they?
These people wait for my fingers to type
Their next move, will they smile or gripe?
The world in which they live is just
In my head but now I must
Write the words and see what comes
I can't ignore my wonderful chums
Taunting and hounding their way back to
The computer screen and onto you
Stories in me want to get out
I tried to banish them but now I doubt
I'll ever escape my friends and muse
They won't go, they simply refuse
So here I am writing again
Their stories lay before me and when
The kids are at school and I have peace and quiet
I'll type their words so they don't riot
I'll no longer ignore that inner voice
I realise I have no choice
I create with words, sometimes wild and gory
I'm a writer, whether blog or story
So, I may get frazzled over the next few weeks while I'm trying to keep up the pace with story writing and blog writing. I refuse to let myself slip back into the 'lazy housewife' mode and let go of something I really love doing.
By Morgan Prince