��� 2005-05-31, 10:24 p.m.
Talent Slavery
My writing has a mind of its own. Whenever it wants to write something, write it does and goes non-stop until it is finished. To hell with what I think or want. After all, I'm only the body. The conduit through which it weaves its wicked spells. I'm nothing but a fleshy shell to the writing. A servant. A means to an end. A means to The End.
If it wants to write horror it does. Or mystery. Or eclectic slice of life. If it desires to write erotica, it does. (A lot.) If it wants to be inspirational or witty or angry it does as it pleases.
Well no more. I am tired of being a slave to talent. Look where it has gotten me. Nowhere. Its wild, unbridled fervor has produced great writing and no sales. This relationship has got to change. It's just not working for me. I'm tired of being used.
From now on, I'm in charge. I say what, I say when, I say how much. And it better do what I say or there's gonna be trouble. I hear it laughing now. "Tame me? Never. Silly girl. It's like trying to put a saddle on sunshine or bottle up a cloudy day."
Certainly it won't be easy at first. It will turn up its nose at me when I sit down before a blank Word document. It will spit and sneer when I place my fingers on the keyboard, even as it does now. But then I will remind it, what are you without me? After all, aren't I writing this little bit right now, this very moment? Do you think you are not lending yourself to my cause as my fingers type out these very words?
See...it's working already.
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