Run, don’t walk, to listen to Inside Creative Writing

Live to Write - Write to Live


If you’d like, you can listen to this post.

I am a writer, but I am not yet the writer I want to be.

I have had very little in the way of formal training. I do not have a college degree or an MFA. I have taken a few, scattered writing courses (most recently a class on writing fantasy at the wonderful Grub Street in Boston), but mostly I’ve cobbled together random bits and pieces – like a magpie collecting shiny things to adorn its nest.

Though my journey has followed a somewhat circuitous path, I believe that I have made progress. From a seven-year-old scribbling in a notebook that I pilfered from the supply closet at the bank where my dad was a VP, I have evolved into someone who makes her living with words – crafting content for my marketing clients, writing a column for…

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She comes later
She is never first thought
She is hidden agenda
Never Public figure

The second woman
She is told lies
And touched at the wrong places
Then given a ring after full bloom

The second woman
Her name is called differently
After the first has conscientiously tuned his cords
His rhymes however are still the same
She doesn’t know
She is slowly lured into complications

The second woman
She is stripped off her number plate
Her seats are not adorned with protection proof
She is affordable
She still thinks she’s brand new

The second woman
She too wants to be loved
She wants her own, she wants it all
Tender love and care!
As much as I want to vent at the Intruder,
I will blame the second woman
She is not discerning
Her instinct is her guide
Her conscience is her inner voice
With her heart, she knows a lying eye
This is how the woman was wired

Those whisperings of the intruder
That abrupt halt in their phone conversations
That function, their picture he refused should be taken
And that day, a heated argument ensued… almost for no reason at all…

Perhaps these signs were blurry
Perhaps she cared less
Perhaps she loved regardless…Or maybe she was desperate
Did she know he was a liar and a cheat?

Now I pity the second woman…I pity where she now resides
Second place, second best…
Then someone from the background asked, almost indistinctly;
“Must we all be first?”
Hmmm… “we can all be first”. I answered
We choose who we become.