peter on writing

There’s something….

I don’t know.

There’s something about writing.

Spoken words, they fade and change, falling victim to the scourge of paraphrasing.

Sure, written words can be misinterpreted. But you can’t control that.

You write them.

You just write them.

It’s the taking it from *here* and sending it out *there*.

And you hope.

You hope it connects with someone. Anyone.

You hope they feel it *here* and that it stays with them up *there*.

You hope it reflects the best of your talents.

You hope that you feel it.

And when you hit it…

You know it.

All over.

It’s gotta feel like launching a home run past the short right field fence in Yankee Stadium.

Clearing it easily.

A no doubter.

I want that.

Every fucking time.

I want that.

I want to crush it.

I want you to know I crushed it.

I want to be filled with the desire…

To do it again.

And again.

But I know that.

Writing, like love, won’t reveal itself to you unless you’ve put in the time.

Unless you’ve practiced.

Unless you’ve earned it.

And even then, it decides when.

So you sit.

Pen on paper.

Flesh on keys.

Soul on display.

And so you sit.

Taking swings.


Waiting to…


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