I Am A Writer

Some fucking people, I DK. Wouldn’t recognise a Spatula if you waved it under their nose! Word mechanic at work. Insert diagram here of man digging for and making a nice pile of words beside him that others could use. Words from out of the very ground. Did you know that? Its a metaphor for what goes on in my head, the bit inside. A little man gets a message ‘some words please’ so our man puts down his newspaper or phone and with a sigh picks up his pick-axe which he puts over his right shoulder while  he ums and arrs and kicks the ground a bit to see just where is best to send the pick head first. A grunt. So, happy with a spot  he takes the pick-axe  in both hands and sends fourteen inches of cold steel into hard unyielding ground. No screams, this is the ground. He sees a letter in the dark soil a ‘G’ so sends in the pick-axe again. Now he sees other word endings. For some reason they are all buried upside down. So he strikes again and again, and again and soon the words are loose enough to pick up and place in a pile. He radios the set. ‘Got them, Jack!. Send in the cleaners.’ and then he sits down again and waits for the next message.

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