The End of Her Pain

Jul1

Going through more old files I came across this one . . . It’s filled with a wee bit of affectation, but I was fifteen when I wrote it, I vaguely remember it being a writing assignment.

The End of Her Pain

Her weapon of choice was words. Words forged from the icy steel of her anger. She stared quietly at him, through him. He felt uncomfortable and vulnerable as her eyes penetrated deep into his soul. She spoke not, simply let her eyes talk in the absence of voice.

The biting silence was nearly enough to tear him apart. He felt his hands trembling as anxiety began to blanket the air about him. It seemed an eternity had passed before he felt the sting of her first blow.

“I can no longer bear the torment of what you call love.” she finally spoke and he felt he’d been struck so hard he should fall from the force it.

“I no longer wish to be shackled in the prison of your heart,” as the words darted from her lips his pulse quickened, confusion and anger wrestled within him. “The cold and darkness of it has dulled my senses and robbed my soul of peace.” Her monotone voice made him uneasy in his own skin.

He searched for words of his own to defend himself, no words would lend themselves to his desperation. His pleading eyes looked to hers for mercy but found none. She remained unstirred and unmoved by his obvious plight. If anything, she revelled in it.

A flurry of questions raged within him. Had he turned this sweet soul so sour and bitter? What had he done to deserve such an attack? His mind raced for the answers he longed for. The answers did come, for the first time it was clear to him. As his smug arrogance began to fade from the reality of her pain, he realized what he had not done for her was the abuse she’d endured for so long.

Always he had thought wounds were made with anger and harsh words, or the pounding of a fist. Now, in his memories, he so clearly recalls all he had chosen to ignore in the past. He sadly sits and thinks of how her lovely smile would fade when he dismissed her dreams. He saw for the first time the many tears that had fallen as he turned from her in times of need. He felt guilt for all the times everything else had been more important than her.

In his newfound clarity of mind he knew the damage he had done. Years of neglect and selfishness had left far worse a wound than any weapon could have delivered. He wanted redemption. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness, but his arrogant pride had not yet been fully broken, he couldn’t bring himself to do the only thing that could end this torment.

She looked into his eyes and knew she did not have to speak another word. She could plainly see in his desperation she had bruised him, but as she turned to walk away from him, forever, she simply said, “I hope you find happiness.”

As the distance between them grew they both knew he never would. She’d made sure of that. Somehow her words had changed him, he now felt unworthy of happiness. He’d taken his chance and tossed it foolishly aside in the blind assumption he could do no wrong.

He’d taken her love for granted. When the petals of her love began to wither and fall he crushed them beneath his feet. He could have saved the beautiful flower of her love, he could have quenched her thirst and filled her world with light, but he didn’t. He left her to wilt in his shadow and now, nothing would ever grow where she’d once been.

She felt the slightest twinge of pity for him, knowing the misery she’d left him to. He would forever walk alone with his thoughts of what was, what could have been, and what will never be. As she raised her eyes toward the sun, taking in the warmth of it once again, she knew her pain and sorrow was forever ended and his had only just begun.

Crystal R. Cook 1985

A Lonely Young Poet

Jun27

artwork – Gerard ter Borch

A lonely young poet
with sweet, red wine
silently welcomes the night
as she would an old friend.

Crimson drops spill
as her glass fills to the brim.

Slowly she sips the nectar
that will transform her world.

Eclectic visions flow forth,
the laureates tongue slurs
under intoxication’s haze.

Her voiceless verbose rambles on
as she empties the bottle.

The crystal goblet glistens
as the days new light
finds its way into her
darkened room.

The page on which she rests
is stained with the color
of tears and old wine.

When she awakes
the words will greet her,
bringing with them
a few, still
moments of peace.

It will last until
the daylight
once again
fades.

Crystal R. Cook ~ 2000

Stymied by rhyme?

Jun23

To rhyme or not to rhyme, if you choose to rhyme, you must rhyme well, for if you don’t it will sound like . . . Well, you understand don’t you?

From the Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce – RIME, n. Agreeing sounds in the terminals of verse, mostly bad. The verses themselves, as distinguished from prose, mostly dull. Usually (and wickedly) spelled “rhyme.”

When asked about English words without a rhyme, most will quite correctly say orange, purple and silver. There are actually many words in the English language lacking a partner in perfect rhyme.

If it’s true rhyme you’re looking for, you may want to steer clear of the words: anything, January, stubborn, apricot, dictionary and xylophone. Good luck with chaos, angry, hostage, rhythm, shadow, circus, crayon and glimpsed. Angst and empty, depth and width will be tough to rhyme, just like glimpsed and else and diamond and chocolate. Penguin and galaxy do not have any true rhymes, nor does elbow or engine, anxious or monster.

A perfect rhyme, sometimes referred to as true rhyme or full rhyme, is defined by the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language as; a rhyme in which the final accented vowel and all succeeding consonants or syllables are identical, while the preceding consonants are different, for example, great, late; rider, beside her; dutiful, beautiful.

Pure rhyme can be broken down even further. Words such as dog and log are single pure rhymes. Silly and willy would hence be referred to as double pure rhymes. An example of a triple pure rhyme would be mystery and history.

The longer the word, the harder it will be to find a perfect rhyme, this doesn’t mean they cannot be used in the context of rhyme however. Para-rhymes are defined as a partial or imperfect rhyme, often using assonance or consonance only, as in dry and died or grown and moon. This is also called half rhyme, near rhyme, oblique rhyme, slant rhyme or forced rhyme. This refers to words that do not completely rhyme, but use like sound to form the desired effect. A common example is the word discombobulate, to create a fluid sounding rhyme, three syllables must be utilized, populate would work well as a half rhyme in this instance. Hill and hell or mystery and mastery are examples of para-rhyme.

Masculine rhyme, or monosyllabic rhyme, is among the most common; this technique stresses the final syllable of each word, as in sublime and rhyme, or went and sent. Feminine rhyme differs in that the stress is on two or more syllables such as pleasure and treasure or fountain and mountain. Identical rhyme is simply using the same word twice.

There are various other examples of rhyme; eye rhyme is a rhyme consisting of words, such as lint and pint or love and move with similar spellings, but different sounds. Rich rhyme is a word rhymed with its homonym such as blue with blew, guest with guessed.

Scarce rhymes are words with limited rhyming alternatives like wisp and lisp, motionless and oceanless. Wrenched rhyme is the rhyming of a stressed syllable with an unstressed syllable as in words like lady and bee or bent and firmament.

Internal and external multi-syllable rhymes utilize the rhyming of more than one word, in this example, bleak and seek are internal rhymes; words within the body of the stanza, while night and light are external rhymes and fall at the end of a line.

So she found him
in the bleak of night,
lost on his quest
to seek the light.

Assonance rhyme is the matching of the vowel sounds, feast and feed, fever and feature. In syllable rhyme, the last syllable in each word is matching, pitter and patter, batter and matter. Consonance rhyme is matching the consonants in each word, her and dark. Alliteration is matching the beginning sounds of each word, often used in a series; perfect, poetic, personification.

Many people wrongly assume writing a rhymed poem is an easy task, until they actually try to write one, that is . . . There is much more to it than seeking words that rhyme, but we’ll discuss it at length some other time.

Crystal R. Cook

Your niche in the literary world

Jun23

One of the definitions for niche is a place or position suitable or appropriate for a person or thing: How do we know just where this elusive, suitable, and appropriate place is when it comes to our writing?

It’s said you must write of what you know and understand, what you love and what you feel. I could choose to write about the care and keeping of coy fish, but it would be nothing more than ad ignoratum as I know nothing of real value regarding coy fish.

I would be recycling information gleaned from reading the words of those who actually do know a thing or two about the subject. This isn’t to say I couldn’t write about the topic, but it would be lacking in personal insight.

Perhaps a reader with just as little knowledge of coy fish would think my piece adequate, but those who have a true appreciation for the large, colorful, coy might find themselves looking for something more. If you don’t believe in or have knowledge pertaining to what you are writing, your work will more than likely show it.

If you aren’t certain where your writing strengths are, you shouldn’t limit yourself to a particular genre before trying others. When I began writing, my goal was to write for children. I tried and I tried, it was awful, but I was so determined I overlooked everything else.

As I sat to write in my journal one evening, I found myself reading instead of writing, I realized I was trying to write in a style which simply did not suit me, my journal read like the pages of a book I didn’t want to put down. I realized it was more my style of writing, stream of consciousness . . . bringing life to the page by painting emotional pictures with words. Every now and again I still attempt a children’s story; I’ve yet to write one worthy of sharing.

If you’re writing something that captivates even yourself, you may just have found that cozy place of penned perfection to slip into. I’ve yet to find my exact niche, the one which completely defines my voice in print. I write what words find their way to my fingertips. Every thought I pen is a piece of me, a heartbeat left to forever give life to the page.

I often write of love and life. Poetry and prose flow forth until darkness makes its way to the page, only to give reign to the light of knowledge as my words transform to teach and inform in articles covering topics I feel strongly about or have experienced and researched myself.

I ponder the possibility; perhaps not having a niche is my niche after all. My eclectic soul, left to roam the parchment with the quill of my choice.

If you write of things you’ve no passion for, things you haven’t knowledge of, your niche will never be found. If you write what flows forth from deep within . . . it may find you.

Crystal R. Cook

Are we losing our written language skills?

Jun19

I have a precious piece of history I keep tucked away in a silken little box, it is a letter. I take it out and look upon it every now and again, careful not to damage the decades-old paper. I am enraptured by the beauty and attention paid to every stroke of each letter. I am in awe of the thought and care put into the choosing of every word, each flowing into the next as though they were always meant to be one. It’s a simple letter, yet so much more; it was written in a time when words were used with pride and given a place of honor and prestige in the world. There is magic woven throughout the beautiful tapestry of the words.

As a writer I respect the written word. I am careful to properly use it. Spelling, grammar and punctuation seem to be fading, no longer important in the age of the social networking, email, and texting. Internet shorthand has become the norm for many, time is of the essence in today’s world and unfortunately, it seems to be creating ignorance and laziness when it comes to the way things once were in regard to the written word. Yes, efficiency is essential, but at what price? What of words? Should they fall to the wayside, giving way to acronyms and simplistic shortcuts?

I am often sent pieces to critique, usually from beginning writers seeking advice, I’m finding many of these writers are sending me not only creative works, but articles and essays with little to no punctuation and words chopped into pieces. They appear to have a non-existent grasp on grammar. I’ve read entire stories without capitalization, paragraph breaks or attention to spelling.

I am certainly not an expert and I make my fair share of grammatical missteps, but I certainly try to avoid them. Before you submit an assignment or an article expecting an editor to give it more than a passing glance, it needs to be written correctly and with care.

Recently, I found my youngest son copying and pasting the definitions to his vocabulary words. When I read the assignment sheet, I was shocked to find this was the instructed method given. It was disheartening to say the least. Teachers are accepting what should be considered substandard work from their students.

How are they to learn if they are not held accountable? If they are indeed being taught the basics in schools, why are they not expected to utilize what they have learned? High school students are graduating with the handwriting of grade school children simply because they were allowed to type their assignments as opposed to writing them.

I am quite thankful computers were not around when I was in school to be quite honest. One may argue I am a bit hypocritical as the medium used to share this opinionated rant of mine was indeed typed upon a screen, before it was written here however, it was first penned to paper by my own hand. Human flaw is inevitable, none are immune to mistake, but there is something immensely satisfying in a job well done, to the best of your ability.

I fear for what the future holds if the fundamentals of writing are lost. I admit to being one of the many dependent on the Internet, but I will not forego all I’ve learned because of it. Our language skills are lacking in the spoken form as well, slang has replaced everyday speech and this seems to be acceptable to the masses, even making it into well-known and respected dictionaries.

I do believe we are losing many skills in the area of language. We all express ourselves through the written and spoken word, many are leaving a very poor impression. We can change this trend by showing the younger generation the immeasurable value of the written word. We need to impress upon them the importance of punctuation, spelling and grammar.

We tend to speak the way we write, we tend to write the way we speak. We need to place greater focus on what we are teaching the younger generation, we must do this by example, expectation, and praise. I’m not implying we forgo conversational speech or even the ultra-relaxed slang which has become as ingrained in our language as the letters which form them, I am simply saying we mustn’t forget the importance, the power, and the necessity of the written word as it is meant to be written.

Preserving the written word is a worthy undertaking which would benefit all.

Crystal R. Cook

Raising Potential Writers

Jun17

A good writer is first a good reader . . .

William Faulkner once said, “Read, read, read. Read everything trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you’ll find out.”

Introducing children to the world of literature is one of the greatest gifts you can give them, regardless of whether or not writing is in their future. Before they can read, read to them, help them fall in love with words.

“Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body.” Sir Richard Steele

Books captivate and spark imagination. Once they begin to read, they begin to learn, let the masters be their teachers. When I was six years old I read The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway, I was enraptured by the tale and soon sat down to write a story of my own. Some children seem to be born with a story within them, just waiting to be told.

“The difference between the right word and the nearly right word is the same as that between lightning and the lightning bug.” Mark Twain

Teach them to speak properly. If they are to write, they must know how to speak, and speak well. The proper use of words and a good vocabulary will only serve to enhance every aspect of their writing as well as their future relationships and employment opportunities. This is something you can do from the time they are babies, baby talk can be fun when it’s time to have fun, but I’m a firm believer that children need to be spoken to in the way we want them to one day speak.

Encouragement will foster confidence; too much encouragement can lead to disappointment, reserved honesty is sometimes best. I would never tell my children something was wonderfully written if it were not, instead, I would find the good in it, then offer suggestions for the parts that could use some attention. Read what your child writes and tell them you want to read more, your enthusiasm will fuel their own.

“There is only one trait that marks the writer. He is always watching. It’s a kind of trick of the mind and he is born with it.” Morley Callaghan

Teach them to see the world around them, help them become constant observers. Inspiration comes in many forms; sometimes the most insignificant of things will lead us to the most significant thought. It teaches them to be aware of themselves and all that surrounds them. It teaches there is so much more to be seen than most people realize, they’ll learn to see what others may not, they’ll experience so much more of life when they learn to look beyond the ordinary.

Two of my four children are writers, amazing writers, they are all avid readers and eloquent speakers as well. When they were young, one of their favorite pastimes was Mad Libs. Without realizing it, they were learning with each silly story. Before my daughter was five she knew what adjectives and pronouns were, she knew the difference between a verb and an adverb. They learned new words and how to spell them through family games of Scrabble.

I often sat with them, pen and paper in hand, and we wrote stories together, taking turns, paragraph by paragraph. Here they learned the proper usage of grammar and punctuation, they learned to be creative. They learned to show, not tell. They found their own voices within the words they penned to the page. Looking back on their earliest writing brings both smiles and tears, their innocence spilled upon page after page, they are some of my most treasured possessions.

“Advice to young writers? Always the same advice: learn to trust your own judgment, learn inner independence, learn to trust that time will sort the good from the bad including your own bad.” Doris Lessing

I encouraged them to keep journals, it’s important to have a place to write anything and everything. To me, it is in the pages of a journal where you learn the most about who you really are. There can be no self-expression without a sense of self.

I taught them to never throw away what they’ve written, even if they thought it wasn’t the greatest, I urged them to tuck it away and maybe someday revisit and rework, or at the very least, look back on to see how far they’ve come. One of my greatest regrets as a writer is the loss of work I deemed unworthy at the time.

As teenagers, I encouraged them to write often, offering critiques and advice along the way. Constructive criticism can be a difficult thing to take in the beginning; they learned to grow from it. They found online writing groups and sought out those teachers willing to take time and become a part of their journey as they wrote their way into each new chapter of their lives.

Now, as adults, they continue to write as they pursue other dreams and opportunities. Their ability to express themselves in both the written and spoken word is remarkable and rarely goes unnoticed. It wasn’t my intent to raise writers, my goal was to teach them the importance of words, language, and expression. The words we say follow us through life, they can open doors or they can close them.

I place great value on words, they are how we let the world know who we are, what we stand for, what we desire, need, and cherish in life. Their worth is immeasurable. Teaching a child the wonder of words, not just how to say them, but how to feel them and bring them to life, is as I said, a gift.

Crystal R. Cook

Keepers of Time

Jun15

“But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which make thousands, perhaps millions, think.” Lord Byron

The world as we know it could not exist if it were not for those first writers who began to chronicle events, creating pictures with words to tell of their experiences, observations, inventions and advancements. Our earliest histories have been preserved because a writer was born to write of them. Legends became legends with the stroke of a writer’s hand. Folklore and fantasy live and thrive between the pages of books written by the keepers of words.

The wisdom’s contained within the Bible, penned on ancient scrolls are treasured; the lessons our Lord taught when he walked the earth have stood the test of time, and to this day are cherished and serve the purpose they were meant to serve. What if they had only been heard and never chronicled? They will remain forever for they were written.

Old pieces of parchment, rich with the ink of our forefathers still remain to serve the country they helped create. We can look upon the Constitution, each word a piece of art; the words themselves are as beautiful as the message they hold. Great care was taken in the writings of those who helped shape our country. They left a small part of themselves in everything they penned; imagine the time taken and the care given to each stroke of the quill. Knowledge gained becomes knowledge lost if not preserved.

In days long past writing was an art, cherished and mastered. Before telegraphs and telephones, e-mails and text messaging, people poured their souls onto page after page. Their letters had meaning and purpose and those that have survived the years are cherished. Letters of love and loss, letters of hope, good news and bad news . . . all penned to a page. Moments in time captured forever.

Men wrote of their love, leaving their brides something to hold and cherish in their absence. Mother’s left mementoes of great worth to be passed down in the form of words etched onto notes and letters, their thoughts and wisdom remain long after they part from this world. With each cherished scrap they once held within their own hands, a small part of them lives on.

I believe every word I write is a beat of my heart. As long as they are read, I will, in some way, live on. My life’s ink is soaked into the pages I leave behind. In my words I shall always be.

The power of the written word cannot be measured. The words have yet to be found to describe its value . . .

Crystal R. Cook

My Silver Love

Jun15

My favorite pen fits perfectly in my hand. Sleek silver shell, slightly cold at first until warmed by the words it will ink to a page. It has substance, not too heavy, not too light. It knows everything there is to know about me, it has written of my innermost thoughts and wishes and dreams. It’s shared in my heartache and rejoiced in my joy. With my pen in hand we waltz across the page, dancing with words to music no one else can hear.

It didn’t start out as my pen, it belonged to another, who, I have no idea. How I came to have it, or how it came to have me, I can’t recall. One day it was just mine, it became an extension of my soul. When I first touched it to a blank page, I watched the dark, black ink seeping into the stark white paper and I saw pure and perfect beauty. Never has a pen touched the page so softly, leaving such a smooth trail of elegance wherever it goes.

My children often try to take it; my husband seeks to steal it away from me. My perfect pen is wanted by all. I carry it with me wherever I go. I’m not the type to lie, but if someone asks if I have a pen they can borrow the only answer there can be is no. It’s not really a lie because my pen is so much more than just a pen; It’s my partner, my confidant and my friend.

I’ve used many others, but this one has something they did not, I know not what it is, but I feel it when I hold it in my hand. Some may not understand, I don’t quite understand it myself, I simply know it is a special pen. I wonder what hands have held it before. I wonder if they knew what a treasure they held. I wonder if they search for it still.

I hope to keep it always; I doubt I could ever find another good enough to take its place. Is it odd to hold such attachment to an ordinary object, one disposable to most, irreplaceable to me? My pen is my pen; I’ll care for and keep it as long as I can. It has many more words to put on a page.

Crystal R. Cook

Poetic Perfection?

Jun15

A dance of words
on printed page
leather bindings
worn from age
enchanted door
beneath a cover
a world in wait
to be discovered
black letters
penned on white
dramatic art
enlightened sight
page upon page
silently heard
melodious echoes
a dance of words

Is there such thing as a perfect poem? What reads like perfection to one may not to another, poetry is a subjective art. There are a few things which can endear your words to a greater audience of readers, however; it is not simply the words themselves, but the way in which you choose to craft them.

A poem needn’t be epic in length, think of the power the words of haiku hold. Poetry is something which comes from within, composition and form are secondary to the words which will bring meaning and life to the page.

Poetry comes in many forms, perfect to one – nonsense to another. What matters is the author’s voice tickling the reader’s ear through the whispered words of the page. You don’t need to use big words or flowery verse . . .

The laureate lamented
for her words were skewed,
her altiloquence mistaken
as being quite rude.
Her style clinquant,
her affectation too much,
too many mistakes,
like catchfools and such.
Circumlocution
and too many clichés
made all of her readers
turn quickly away.
What she thought
to be eloquent
was really quite fustian;
due to forced rhyme
she lacked any . . . lyricism?
Pedantry ad nauseam,
not even done right,
left the young writer
feeling contrite.
She vowed to improve,
she promised to change
and pay more attention
how her words were arranged.
Convinced of her talent
she started again,
but was soon held up
by heteronyms.
She stopped and she sighed,
then she started to cry,
for her poetic juices
had completely run dry . . .

Simply awful with that bit of forced rhyme and the ridiculous use of unnecessarily big words. I must admit though, it was quite fun to write.

Writing poetry can be healing, thought-provoking and at times, profound. The perfect poem is the one that touches your soul when you write it, welcoming the reader to become one with your words.

A poet pens his muse to the page
seeking not perfection
but release . . .

Poetry does not have to rhyme. If you cannot rhyme well, do not rhyme at all. Forced rhymes destroy what may otherwise be a fine piece of work. Rhymed poetry needs to have a rhythm; it needs to flow seamlessly as it is read. It needs to make sense.

If writing a rhymed piece, ideally each stanza should have the same amount of lines; the rhyme scheme needs to be consistent. There are several ways to craft a rhymed poem, once you’ve chosen your style, remain true to it throughout the piece, the jarring effect of switched up rhyme schemes can throw a reader off.

Every line in a poem does not need to be capitalized; many writers tend to do this, for the reader though, it is often hard to distinguish where one thought ends and another begins. A poem can have commas, periods, and question marks. These details can certainly serve to enhance your work; don’t be afraid to use them.

Poetic beauty is personal passion as it is with any art. There are those who love and admire the work of Picasso and others who are perplexed and not attracted to it in the slightest, yet both recognize the value of the art itself.

Words never rest,
an endless dance
of thoughts
and epiphanies,
which must
be forgotten
or given
life eternal
upon a page.

Words
ease fear
create terror
heal, hurt
make
insanity
the norm.

They never
cease
they never
fade,
never fail
never stop
dancing.

Crystal R. Cook

This effects us all, it affects us too. I can almost guarantee you have WA.

Jun13

WA is a recognized and widespread epidemic of addiction affecting people from around the globe. This affliction has silently consumed lives for centuries, some may argue it is a harmless addiction, though many have been known to suffer from co-morbid conditions such as alcohol and caffeine abuse.

Negative side effects include insomnia, malnourishment, and social deficits. Family members of those living with WA have reported episodes of withdrawal, lack of spontaneity, decreased desire to engage in family activities, lack of personal care, and sustained periods of restlessness in those diagnosed.

Currently, the typical diagnostic criteria used to determine addiction is not apparent in all cases, many go unrecognized by the medical and psychiatric communities leading to a majority of cases being diagnosed by family members. Many of those with WA are self diagnosed.

In many instances you may hear it referred to as a syndrome in lieu of an addiction. A majority of those with WA do not see it as an addiction, they believe they were born with WA. Popular theory and current research suggests there may be a genetic component involved.

Since the diagnostic criterium for addiction is not always met, WA, also known as Writing Addiction, or Writing Syndrome, is often a diagnosis of exclusion, meaning you know your addicted if you’ve excluded everything else in life aside from the written word.

In fact, if you are reading this you may have one of two very real addictions, perhaps even both. If you are reading simply because you must read you more than likely have RA, Reading Addiction. If you are reading this and already thinking of what to write about it, it’s safe to say you are a Writing addict. If you are reading this out of sheer compulsion AND thinking of what to write, you are not alone, a majority of those diagnosed carry a dual diagnosis referred to as RAWA, Reading and Writing Addiction. There is no shame.

Writing addiction is not something you plan. It is an all-encompassing desire, the more you write the more you need to write. Like most addictions, it begins to consume you. At first it’s just jotting things down now and then, a bit of poetry here, a little prose there and soon you’re writing stories and sonnets and epic works of words late into the night.

It’s a secret addiction in the beginning, harmless to most. Writing addicts typically start in their spare time. It doesn’t take long until spare time is no longer enough; it begins to creep into their day. When you’re supposed to be doing bills an idea will hit and next thing you know you’ve written half a chapter on the back of your electric bill.

It doesn’t end there. Dinners get burned, kids are late for school, laundry piles up and you forget to feed the dogs, you write about it though. Hungry Dogs, a Tale of Sad Tails. When it first begins it’s easy to hide, but soon you get careless and scraps of paper litter the countertops and the dressers, notebooks and journals are in every room of the house.

Your desktop is filled with papers and coffee cups. Oh yes, coffee cups. Once the addiction has you in its clutches you forego nourishment for a good old Cup-o-Joe to keep you going. Snack foods sustain life. By the time family and friends see the signs it’s too late. No one says anything until you arrive at school in the afternoon to pick up your children wearing yesterday’s pajamas.

By the time anyone suspects there is a problem it’s already too late. Sure, they can hold interventions; they can beg and plead, but the need to write simply cannot be overcome. Once you have it, you have it for life. Eventually those who love you will accept the reality of your life. You are a writer.

There isn’t much you can do for someone with writing addiction except accept them and love them just as you did before they picked up a pen. In some cases it is genetic; many children of writing addicts are themselves addicts by the time they reach puberty. The same can be said for the offspring of reading addicts. There has yet to be a cure, its doubtful there ever will be.

I myself am a reading and writing addict. It began when I took my first breath, my family has tried to put an end to it, but they’ve never succeeded. They’ve never even come close. They know I will write about them if they push it too far. Do they think I don’t know casserole will burn if I don’t stop writing long enough to take it out of the oven? I mean seriously, why else would I keep a fire extinguisher at my desk. I’m one step ahead them.

In conclusion, writing can in fact, be an addiction. There is no way to know who will become a slave to the written word. There is no way to stop it once it has begun. I suppose those of us with writing addiction are enabling the reading addicts among us, they can’t get enough of what we do . . . but then, are they not in a sense encouraging our own addiction to writing? And what of those of us with the dual addiction, we are our own worst enemy and best friend; it is a vicious circle, one with no end.

If a cure is ever found I’m heading for the hills. I wonder if I can get high-speed Internet service up there . . . no matter, paper, pens and solitude is all I need to feed the hunger. No twelve step programs for me, I’ll write one for anyone who wishes to work through their beautiful addiction though, not that anyone would.