Why Writers Write

A Writer’s Chant

I am a writer, working—pegg7
I work to write
I write to work
When I am working
I am writing
When I am writing
I am working.

Working brings joy, only
If words unfold and dance
In a frenzied state
Filling page after page, until
The story is set and the
Characters channel
The writer-working

Dizzy almost dazed
The writer in me rocks
In harmony to the
Of manicured nails tap-tap-taping
Across the keys with reckless
Abandonment, ‘till the writer surrenders

In awe, in exhaustion—in love
I am with this passion, a gift
To write word after word, across
The body, beyond the page, inside
My head—and
Upon sheets of unlined pages
Bound in leather tied by a string—

At the edge—in my mind
I sit, waiting out the length
Of a breath, my fingers tremble
In fear, in anticipation, praying there’ll
Be another, one more word or several
Tickey-tick-tick-tickey-tock, the clock
Talks until the fingers stroke the silver keys

And the writer in me is renewed
Working to write, writing to realize
The story of a woman searching for
A dream of becoming–
A writer who works to write
Word after word
Inside the margin—beyond and afar

The writer I’ve become, working
Late, early, in between
The hours of sunset and sunrise–
When I am working
I am writing
When I am writing
I am working.


I’m a writer and hoarder of one-size-fits-all panty hose. Until the hose fits over my bum, I write to provide an alternative view on writing and perfection.

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