A Writer’s Dream

Is it wrong to wish to write for writing’s sake? Is it wrong to feel the need to write a disclaimer only I’ll ever see?

I sometimes think I was born to the wrong era, that before computers and watches knew your name, I might have been happy. I’d have sat in my room as others scampered about living their lives and smiled at the view beyond the window, written down what I saw without forethought or fear. The clouds would’ve drifted across cerulean fields like mythical beasts and birds would’ve tweeted the minutes. With a quill for a sword and a wooden chair for a colt, I’d have lived out my days as a warrior of words and others would’ve been happy I did. But it isn’t days of yore, and there’s no time for idealism in today’s world of exactitudes and uncompromising rapport. We are. We will. We do as we’re told.

I sometimes wish the curtains to close and never open. Here wrapped in my private night, I’ll live in peace with these hundreds of thousands of words scattered all around; most long forgotten and stashed away in burrows of rabbited nonsenses. The songs I love will play in endless loops through ears with no wish to hear the spouted obscenities and harsh realities — or so they claim — of this, that and the other. Darkness will fold around me like a lover’s kiss, all-encompassing, and I won’t even know if I’m dead, nor care. But then the words will come, white on black, and I’ll feel more alive than ever.

Sometimes a voice calls from deep within that I presume my own but still doubt. This — let’s call it soul — knows my name, my home, my life, wife and circumstance, but even this supposed virgin self is dubious to my needs. What are my needs?

I have absolutely no wish for anyone to read what I write. I have absolutely no desire to be famous. If people happen upon these reams of written words and enjoy them, feel them, I’ll smile and thank them, and expect no thanks in return. If a child picks up one of my books and their eyes light up with wonder, I shouldn’t care if their parent commands them to put it back — not if the spark’s already lit. If? Such a little word. Such a pertinent package. But the cold hard reality, is something has to pay for a coffin and good intentions won’t.

Sometimes I think I’m free. Sometimes, but not often.

Thank you for reading



68 thoughts on “Sometimes

  1. The entirety educated me about a feel of completeness that I often miss on catching, a completion that I let slip in the lines of more and enough. I truly love this.

  2. You made me fall in love with your words all over again. I wish to think you are writing only for writing’s and your sake. You certainly aren’t writing for me as I would selfishly demand more and more of your thousands of words. And never forget it was you and your words that convinced me to actually write a poem of my own. Miss you, R. Always, D(ana) — in case you have forgotten.

      1. Well, I know how fluid your memory can be. Smiles. I am doing well. Better than I ever expected. I am still very grateful for all you did for me.

    1. Dear Richard,

      What noble purpose you have for writing! Clearly, you have succeeded, albeit unintentionally, in stirring or spurring Dana (who, as far as I know, usually paints) to begin writing poems.

      Perhaps this was a kind of epiphany that you experienced, and that transported you beyond the cold, hard reality, sometimes.

      1. Actually, I have been a writer of sorts for decades. But approximately 7-8 years ago, Richard convinced me to write a poem. It wasn’t very good but Richard encouraged me to continue. I now write poetry more than prose. Smiles. I began painting 3-4 weeks ago. Richard is an incredible writer with a giving heart. I am honored to call him a friend.

      2. Thank you, Dana, for your clarification. May you achieve even higher satisfaction and excellence in the coming years as your endeavours in writing poems continue to mature.

        Happy May to you and Richard!

  3. I really like what you write. And I also get the need to sometimes just write for yourself. I have half a dozen journals of mine where I wrote just because I wanted to. For me.

      1. Hi Monika! Just here intermittently.
        We’re in lockdown here, which is awful, but actually suits me fine. Write, write, write. 😄
        Hope you’re okay and keeping well.

      2. Yeah. The whole world is in Lockdown it seems. I am safe and fine here. Carry on with your writing ✍

  4. Wow wow wow that was powerful. Your silence has made a power-packed presentation of your thoughts as always I loved it! Hooray for you! I will always be inspired by you my friend! So happy to see this! 🙂

  5. so this is coming from a person who hasn’t written for a year- somewhere i felt trapped in my own doubts and that was partly the reason why i stopped that way i relate to this piece of writing. however, let’s never lose hope and keep hoping for freedom and liberation in writing in its true sense, ’cause that’s what writing stands for!

  6. Mr. Richard, I see you vanished for a bit too (years? … my bit anyway). As always, I love this piece. I agree about this era … but if we’re to do as we’re told, then I say WRITE RICHARD! ❤ Very good to see you. xoxo Kimba

  7. I’ve often said (and probably not originally) that the mark of a true writer is if that person would write even if there was no hope of them ever becoming famous or even recognized as a writer.

    Your essay above gives you the mark of a true writer.

  8. I sometimes glimpse the world you describe. Those mornings when I am the only one awake, no machines switched on, just me, the paper and a pen… Perfect, if shortlived paradise…

  9. These comments show that your readers love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough (said in my Prince Edward voice). I can see why. Your thoughts about writing and why you write are so similar to how I feel. I’ve been submitting and rejected recently and now ask myself why. That’s not why I started writing. Thank you for reminding me.

  10. Dreaming away with words that shall stay in black and white. Written in August 2019, much before Covid19. What a way to remember a year. Presently, everyone has time with the lock down except those who are sick or attending. People are now praying for having lots of work. Hope to see more of your write-up.

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