Gathering stories
crying with strangers-turned-friends
tales woven
into focused collections
into pages
and pages
calloused fingers
hand crafting a shared love
Book covers created
with patience
humor and
a little, not- annoying- we-hope,
self-awareness.
Blurbs too.
Ridiculous amounts of time
pondering fonts
Then off she goes
on toddering legs
out
into the big wide world
equal parts confidence and hesitance
amazing, charming, and landing,
ultimately,
on her pampered behind
adored by a clapping family
ignored by everyone else.
Peace gets made with this. Sort of.
Popularity contests are for high school, cue eye roll.
I’m still waiting to grow up.
Drinks with friends
talk turns to Amazon best sellers
what we read when no one is watching
murder mysteries, sci fi, and smut, oh god, the smut.
Tales circulate
of $30,000 made
(that’s like a billion gazillion dollars in writer land)
on one monster erotica book
WTF?!
Wouldn’t be so terrible,
methinks,
to create trash and romance
to splash
rock-hard abs
onto front and back covers
to write
fast and furiously
screaming “Oh god, FUCK the font!”
hair blown back in creative collaboration
until we’re exhausted
satisfied with sales
and just a little
embarrassed.
Some days I wonder.
Beauty in books
may be in the eyes of creators and readers
but big sales
are clearly in abs.
I was Certain
from ages 10 to 43
that this was selling out.
Now I’m not so sure.
Maybe this is writer selves
skinny dipping
jumping
all in
feet and abs first
guns blazing
chests bared
exposed
delighting in being delighted in.
Maybe being human
is not so bad
after all.
Time to start creating
what we really love.
