no writing today
it’s just not happening….
and then away from the desk
words and images flit across the blank page of this mind
they are good ones,
“it was not a good day for writing
it was a good day for editing
cloudy and damp
the house was clean and tidy
the plants watered
the tomatoes from the roof garden ripened on the shelf
it was a mystery, how that happened
narayani annapurna sat down at the desk to transcribe …ah ..,…ah…”
what was transcribed?
is that a word? transcribed? oh no, passive voice
what did she transcribe?
“you are trying too hard”
the voice said
are those tomatoes ripening mysteriously?
/*the experts are not fond of adverbs*/
frozen like a deer in the headlights
(uh oh, is this a cliche?)
what kind of job is this that one sits in a room by oneself
and either restructures ones thought
wondering what a writer does
on a day like this
where everything feels forced
/*what does a writer do, she wondered*/
can you transmit the flow of thinking
onto the page without judgment or criticism?
this, she cried, is a job for failed meditators
or expert ones, depending on how
one looks at the thing