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Introduction From, “If You Write It, It Will Sell” “I did not choose to write. My personality is such that I thrive when I’m around people not holed up alone in a room banging out words on a computer. I write because I have to. Characters bombard me with their need to be heard. A storyline falls into place like a missile centering on its target. I have a file cabinet filled with articles, novels, stories, poems, and plays. Most often they remain untouched, rarely read, edited, or sent for publication because once the writing is over, the urge is satisfied, I am at peace, and the nagging little inner voice is stilled.” From, “Scum-Gluck”, a dialogue with my Muse “How can you say I bug you? I never ask you to come and drive me to distraction with your storylines, dialogue, description and plot scenarios. Never once have I asked you to bombard me with a desire to write. I don’t consider myself a writer. I don’t enjoy writing and I don’t like you!” From Shake
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From my journal, 1986 – St. Petersburg, FL. I have no direction, no plan or destination for my writing. I am not even sure I want to write, but I seem to be continually drawn to pen and paper, and yet I say so little of intrinsic value. It has been impossible for me to remain with one writing project and follow it to its conclusion. Is it because I become bored or disinterested? Is it my subconscious mind rebelling against the discipline that must be brought about to successfully weed, fertilize and harvest? Why do I feel so sad? So unfulfilled" The following words flowed from my mind: And with a pleading voice I asked the wind, "'WHY DO I WEEP?" The wind heard me not as it pursued its course brushing against all in its path without distinction. As the raindrops touched my face I asked, "WHY DO I WEEP?" They answered me not as they mingled with my tears, fell to the ground and resumed the eternal flow. The sun kissed me gently. "WHY DO I WEE
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