I just can't stop

The need to write the stories in my head is as real as the urge to feed when I am hungry. I have to do it... just as I need to inhale/exhale, I must write.

The need to share the words I've strung together are just as strong, but things get lost in translation. My words don't match the vision in my head and I can't show it to anyone, because they'll see the gaps and reject my claim on this gift that I consider my birthright... and that's a good day.

On a bad day the fear seeps into my soul and grips my talent in a choke hold and i can't put the pen to pad... I can't even look at the shit because i'm a fraud and everything that i ever wrote was a waist of tree bark. I know it even if you don't.

those five star reviews on amazon was simple kindness and nothing more.


I see a woman wipe a lone tear drop off her cheek and a story sparks into being in my mind.
In the breath of 2 seconds.
I can see that her daddy like the bottle more than her and her mom, and he left them both and her mother took comfort in the arms of every come by lately and one guy was a little to fond of her and he touched her pink places in the late hours before the dawn and fast forward to high school and she's pregnant and he left just like her daddy and she found solace in weed that morphed to nose candy that grew to a full on white horse addiction and she's mimicking the tricks she saw at the foot of her mothers bed in the apartment accept this one dude is making it rain and...

I go home and write all that shit down...


the shit i wrote is good, real good and i know that if people could just read it... they would think it's good too and they would give me five star reviews on amazon and junk and i will be an author....

easy peasy... but the devil is in the details.

I need an editor, but my son needs shoes. I need to pay a graphic artist, and the mortgage... my print cost is how much plush shipping.... fukoutahere the transmission is slipping on the truck... mom's car needs a starter and I have to work doubles to pull this shit off...

it aint worth it... i'm tired... i can't do this anymore...

I walk to the trolley because the trucks transmission has just died and a young girl stopped me. "I read Strawberry Mansion in one day! Oh my God I love that book. It made me cry!" I smile "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it" I get on the trolley and pull out a notebook and write....

because I just can't stop...

Until next time

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  1. Love it Julia. Truly real and excellent post!

  2. Thanks, Melodi. This is a very hard road I travel upon... Rewarding, but so damn hard!