Why-so
If Your Writing Would Bring Pure Wealth, Would You Still Write At All?
And Would You Still Write With The Same Hunger — The Same Desire, If All Was Given Away So Freely?
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
Hamper me in the gold of crowns and banner lords, and what would you find? — a dozy old devil, couped up in a chicken shed somewhere, a little too fat on security, choccy-biscuits, and a mild drunken addiction to Tea.
So like the image used, the akimbo spirit is strong here — so you, as I humbly stare away, these wee things are all about asking you a Question, so here it is:
If there was a guarantee of an easy way to wealth viva the the ways of writing, would you go after it in the same passionate manner —
as I hope you’ve been doing, going after this evasive thing; would you also go after this pot of gold with the same hunger, the same desire?
Hardship and the lack of success bring out the most magnificent hardy qualities in someone, given only if their character wasn’t one of a whinging, self-entitled brat, oh, Doctor, hush my scandalous lips!
But to give it to you in another way, if a writer's life was made as equal as the successive shifts of a Cornershop worker, would the impact remain the same?; though in this economy either/or are as likely to be lacking, ah!
But seriously, and I am going to be serious here, if all things were made to be equal in importance to one another, would anything have any importance at all? Going to the Cornershop for your pint of milk is good, yes, good for your morning brew, but it is hardly going to feed your mind like a Shakespearean play.
Nor choosing to remain a beached satellite on your sofa when you should be picking your child up from the end of schooling, is in any way a good idea! One takes priority over the other for these bedazzling higher things.
At least for these given minutes…
Worth is Subjective, so is Wealth and what one receives from a certain piece of writing at different given moments, and what it needs is ever on the move.
Why the boundaries for Great works is so strict, and to find yourself the cheeky nassling vessel that archives a masterstroke of such aptitude, is a thing made of pure happy happenstance!
Cementing you as an immortal for centuries to come, oh, what luck!; here’s hoping the chosen civilization outlasts the appetite for destruction as well.
If anyone told this old kook about what my words and ideas would bring to the end of all things, I wouldn’t have begun!
Let me wonder a ‘lil bit now, and for you to wonder too, so there goes our time, enjoy!
Ta-ta Now, mind my mild tickling of the humorous bone?
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ON THE WRITER; A SERIES:
The CURATION — THE FINE RABBLE’S PUBLICATION:
WORDS FROM AN EVER-CURIOUS WRITER:
As ever, Dear Reader.
