Wentworth Miller: The Trouble About Wentworth.

Wow!  How’s that for a Title to my blog?  Hopefully it’ll grab someone’s attention.  [She winks.]

Well I’ll get right down to the crux of the matter.  Is it just me, or do others find that since you've become a fan of Went, he plagues your mind?   I mean my train of thought or perhaps concentration isn’t what it used to be since Went has caught my attention.

To give you an example, the other day I went grocery shopping.  I’d written a list before leaving home and when I got to the shop, I realised that I’d left it at home.  Went was the reason for my absentmindedness.  "Why?" you may ask.  Well when I was dressing up to go to do the shopping I started wondering about Went. I’ll let you in on a little secret he creeps into my mind most of the time.  [She says shyly.]  And it ain't good if you want to keep your wits about you.  He can cause you to daydream a lot which may cause mishaps if you know what I mean?

 

Anyway getting back to what I was writing about.  I pictured Went sitting writing away at his desk and then I wondered to myself if Went gets a stiff neck and tense shoulders.  Does he suffer from eye strain from looking at his computer all day? Perhaps he works at night too.  And then I also got to thinking whether he gets a chance to take a breather.  Does he manage to get some fresh air?  Who makes lunch and dinner for him and who brings him a cup of coffee or a drink of water while he’s slogging away?  Suddenly I became paranoid over him.  I then pictured Went all bent over and starving to death.  Tiny beads of perspiration began to form on my brow and above my upper lip.  I tell you eventually my little mind had me so worked up that if I had wings to fly I would've flown straight there to be with him. [She clucks.]  

Well by the time my mind had finished playing tricks with me, I left my home feeling like a complete wreck and hence “the shopping list” was left behind.  To make things worse I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I had to buy.  [She laughs.]

And can you believe this?  As I was walking down the aisles staring at the rows of food all I could do was think of poor Went.  In my mind I pictured him tired, worn out, and undernourished which made me feel so guilty.  I gave up my shopping for the day. That night I had to open up a can of beans for dinner. [She frowns.] Meanwhile I bet Went was sleeping like a contented baby on the other side of the world with not a care in the world.

To those who Went has inspired to take up writing, I found this down to earth poem for you.  It may give you some sort of inkling what it means to be a writer.

So You Want To Be A Writer by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you

 in spite of everything,

 don't do it.

 unless it comes unasked out of your

 heart and your mind and your mouth

 and your gut,

 don't do it.

 if you have to sit for hours

 staring at your computer screen

 or hunched over your

 typewriter

 searching for words,

 don't do it.

 if you're doing it for money or

 fame,

 don't do it.

 if you're doing it because you want

 women in your bed,

 don't do it.

 if you have to sit there and

 rewrite it again and again,

 don't do it.

 if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,

 don't do it.

 if you're trying to write like somebody

 else,

 forget about it.

 if you have to wait for it to roar out of

 you,

 then wait patiently.

 if it never does roar out of you,

 do something else.

 if you first have to read it to your wife

 or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

 or your parents or to anybody at all,

 you're not ready.

 don't be like so many writers,

 don't be like so many thousands of

 people who call themselves writers,

 don't be dull and boring and

 pretentious, don't be consumed with self-

 love.

 the libraries of the world have

 yawned themselves to

 sleep

 over your kind.

 don't add to that.

 don't do it.

 unless it comes out of

 your soul like a rocket,

 unless being still would

 drive you to madness or

 suicide or murder,

 don't do it.

 unless the sun inside you is

 burning your gut,

 don't do it.

 when it is truly time,

 and if you have been chosen,

 it will do it by

 itself and it will keep on doing it

 until you die or it dies in you.

 

 there is no other way.

 

 and there never was.

Thank you for reading my blog.  Goodbye.  

You may want to follow my links below … and then again you may not!  [She laughs.]

 http://debraheylen.blogspot.com/2011/09/writing.html

http://debraheylen.blogspot.com/2012/02/creativity-gift-of-life.html

For the romantics ...

and for the unromantics.