I know it’s difficult
And I know it feels like it shouldn’t be
Especially when you’re surrounded by people
Whose pens glide over the pages with ease
And move from chapter to chapter
And then book to book
Faster than you.
And now you’re sitting there
Staring at a blank page,
Wondering if it’s worth filling.
You’ve lost the motivation and strength to go on
Because lately, it seems like you’ve been writing
The same sad things over and over
And it doesn’t seem to be picking up any time soon.
You’re scared that no one will want to read on,
So you think it would be best to quit while you’re ahead.
You’ve grown to hate the main character
And you want to kill her off
Because you’re beginning to see how unimportant she is.
But she is important.
For without her, there would be no story.
Be kind to her, please.
She’s the essence of the story
And she’s the reason why I’m still reading.
Be kind to yourself, please.
I can see you creasing the papers
And trying to hide what you just wrote,
But my love, no amount of erasing
Can get rid of permanent ink.
You’re surrounded by finalized books
With glossy covers and perfect diction,
No excess lines or scribbles
But yours won’t be like that.
Keep and love the drafts.
Let them be reflections of our lives,
Reminders that imperfection is reality.
Let them be unique and genuine and real
Unlike no other book.
Think of the people who will read them
Feel safe, and comforted,
And who will feel like they belong,
I know you’re at the dark part right now.
I know the main character is in pain.
I know you’re part of the reason why, too.
I know this part has gone on for almost two years now,
But my love, it’s merely a chapter in what is bound to be a beautiful novel,
Perhaps even a series.
So if you can’t find your way out of this chapter just yet
It will happen eventually.
But you’ll never see it if you stop writing.
So just keep going.
And I hope you choose to save the main character
So she can save the readers.
After all, she’s saving me.
I know the pen is getting heavy;
I can see your hand cramping up,
Your arm giving out,
Your head sinking down,
Your light fading away..
I’m in the middle of my own story,
But luckily I have two hands
So I can help you.
I’ll hold your pen for a bit.
But I can’t write for you,
Because your voice is the ink
And without it, I am powerless.