Sometimes I indulge in a Shakespeare play session in my DVD collection, and there are effects on my writing which insist on being displayed….
A group of folk are sitting, forlorn.
Speaks: Good-day to you my fellow Wordsmiths
Why these sombre faces?
What halts or confounds your pens?
Have you fallen out to dispute of
Those five particular sisters
Calliope of the wondrous images
Euterpe entrancing with the lyrical dance
Thalia ever humorous and irreverent
Erato sweet purveyor of heart’s feelings
Polyhymnia, solemn in her honoring of the divine
Spokesperson: Well for you friend
That you should still be light of heart
Feel all is worth the business
For us, we see no sign of reward
No one beckons us
And heartily cries
‘Come! We would read your words!’
We sit in small dark corners
And none notice, or care
For our efforts.
Commentator: My brothers and sisters in authorship
This grieves me greatly
To witness you, victims to the Sly Mischief Maker
The ever-willing herald of The Drudge, Doubt.
This pair delight in stifling any bloom
Would grind the first shoots down
Ere they peer hopeful through the soil.
They are their carping squadrons of dullards
Who would have everyone just as slothful.
Spokesperson: Were you an alchemist of literature,
Were you able to turn your words deftly
And display them as nuggets of good news
Then we would cry ‘Hail Our Captain!
‘Lead and we shall follow’
(group nod and murmur)
But friend you are companion to Delusion
For many have travelled by our sorry group
And assailed us with words of good cheer,
Then been on their merry way,
While we sit and watch the words
As leaves, blown this way and that, and lost.
Commentator: Friends! Friends! You think I the hapless simpleton?
Then more fool me for brining this false mask to you.
For I am as battered and bruised as any of you.
The silence and the emptiness of no response
This I have passed in many a dreary day.
The careless rejection back so fast as to best Mercury
Has been a common visitor to my desk.
Bearing witness to folk who by deft means and insincere crafting
Have found easy fame and wealth,
A regular event so bothersome and mocking
I at times would have plucked out my eyes
And cried ‘No more! No more. Let me blunder away!’
Yet, the soft and steady the precious call continues,
Awakes within my forlorn breast the urge.
Once more do I walk with unsteady tread
To sit, and with trembling pen or battered device
Willing to answer the far off persisting, yet sweet songs
Which are the very life-milk to inspiration.
From what distant shore or forgotten manse
These hymns of summoning arise I cannot say.
And yet must follow with increasing pace
Made light by the sudden dance in my heart,
As once more the words begin to leave my head
To find form and juncture upon paper or screen.
Thus, Friends I do not give you any bright promises.
I would not insult you with happy quips about success
No, I do call you to a more daunting task
To bid you to arise from these sloughs in which you lie.
To stagger once more unto the field
Answering to the barely heard music.
Readying to forge on across unhelpful lands
Giving flight to the words which sit restless
Ever eager to spring forth through the despondency.
For you dear Friends. You the many small candles,
Would light dark places with your myriad words
Could raise a spirit or two with your images and messages
Might bring forth another to take up the sane road.
And would that not be worth more than easy coin
Come by shallow capering and tawdry lines overused?
Your acts and your endeavours though mayhap seeming small
Are as valuable as any roaring efforts of Titans
When truth be revealed, when all bluster is gone
The victories were won by the small individuals
Who in serried ranks forced the issue.
Now, guided by those ephemeral strains you know well,
Reach for your ever-present flints
Strike upon the stones of resolution,
Light those blessed candles, raise them higher.
Stride out once more, not seeking reward,
But to bring form unto thought and depth to your dreams.
For you are as valuable as any who claims the prize.
For you are of the very lifeblood which is Humanity’s Hope.
You are creators, you are bringers of songs and tales
You fill up the world with wonders and colours.
You have been chosen. You have been summoned.
And I will ever be glad of your company.
Be that in rags and in places where the Great do not go.
And I would be proud of your efforts, though they trample mine.
For you, each and every one- The Writers. The Artists.
Badges which none can tear from your jackets and coats.
Ah, but I have spoken far too long, have been a distraction!
Away with you now to your favour’d places, steel your resolve.
For you have a World to Enrich and thus save.
Go you warriors.
Heedless of rewards.
The Muses are beckoning you.
And when you stand upon your summit
You will look down into the vale
Being able to say, with determination
‘I created! I did achieve!’
The ending dear reader is in your hands.
Good fortune to you.
Never, ever give up with your writing.