Food and Fodder

How can you call yourself a writer when all your words won't pay for bread to eat. What makes you an author when not one soul has been sat at your table to feed? What causes you such arrogance to feel you have something valuable to convey. From whom do you receive wondering gratitude because your pen severed a sword and saved the day.

Do you see anyone following you, or a line of fainting admirers outside your door. Just exactly who do you think you are without any constituents to brand you with a mark, sign or symbol. You're nobody among everybody until the masses learn to love you. And how do you expect to acquire such a benefit. Simply by narrating the obvious to the oblivious. Somehow turn back the wheels of progress. The brain-dead and the mindless have no use for your euphoric promises.

Holster your pen and throw down your weapons of words. Surrender yourself to a swift and merciful execution, or suffer a trial as the sixteenth-century witches did. Cry wolf or freedom it's all the same. You think you're something that we say you're not. Wallow in self pity and someone will write about your failures and your shame. Continue to boast of something you are not and when the knife is removed from your back you can write a novel about the pain...