It’s only by sitting in the chair
that we can hope to rise.
It’s only by tackling the knot
that we stand any chance of untangling it.
By putting words to the page
so many words,
any and all kinds of words,
mischosen words,
earnest words,
embarrassing words,
too many words.
It’s only by doing this work that we might hope to find
the perfect words.
The keys that turn the locks.
The switches that bring to life the lights.
The whispers of truth
the strength to the muscles
the shape to the spine
the beat to the heart
of the narrative.
The right words are there.
Not in some nebulous cloud floating above your head,
not lurking in your computer,
not sleeping in the pages of that thesaurus you never open.
The words are in you already.
Perfect words in search of a perfect place.
But the only way to find them
is by doing the work.
By opening the page.
By uncapping the pen.
By sitting down in that chair.
To write.