Desk


Welcome


Divider




THE WRITER
 
The writer's true companions,
Are not the men whose hands he shakes,
They are the friends within his mind,
That he himself creates.
 
Lonesome hours are not his,
For his friends are always there,
Their conversations sometimes rampant,
And sometimes too much to bear.
 
Yet, they can be delightful,
And make him smile and laugh,
Or they can be quite dreadful,
And make him feel most daft.

Books

 
They come and stay ... or go away,
At his desire and demand,
Though, on occasion, they'll intrude,
And they will take command.
 
It's just a question then of time,
Till he devises their demise,
Then other faces do replace them,
Oft times to his surprise.
 
A writer should be in charge,
Of the men of his creation,
But sometimes he is not,
Fate dictates their destination.

Books

 
He then becomes their humble servant,
For he has lost control,
And he must follow where they lead him,
Though he might not choose to go.
 
But through sheer will and stubborness,
He may regain  the reins,
And bring those stalwart characters,
Back into line again.
 
Then when they have reached a goal,
Achieved some ambition, or have died,
With his pen, he'll write, "THE END!"
The friends are gone, but he's survived.

Books

 
With the writer's many challenges,
He's misunderstood by many folks,
And the fantasies that he has dreamed.
Become his tragedies or jokes.
 
But he can entertain you,
Titillate you, or inspire,
Even gain your admiration,
Or aggravate your ire.
 
Imagination is his venue,
The figments thereof, his friends,
The blood that gives them life to live,
Flows to them from his pen.

Books

 
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright November 2006 ~ Revised April 2007




ViewSign


Back Home


Divider


Logo