Do you wait for inspiration to strike?
Or do you go hunting for it?

When I was younger
Inspiration used to feel like an old man
Chasing me down the street,
Waving an idea in his hand
And yelling at me to make him known
To everyone else.
So writing became a way of letting
A genie out of a bottle.
Now that I am older
Inspiration has grown younger,
Now a restless little girl
Who asks me to play
But won’t ask twice.
She never sits still and seems content on her own,
So I’ve got to be willing to chase
If I want an audience.
Writing is my way of keeping her entertained.

My relationship with inspiration has evolved.
It would be foolish, now,
to only write when inspiration strikes.
That old man doesn’t come around as much anymore.

What does inspiration look like to you?

One thought on “Inspiration

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