I’m a writer,
Hear Me Roar.
We roar about grammar.
(Oxford comma, anyone?)
We roar about personal pronouns.
(He and she went there with them.)
We roar about people
(you’re in your house)
(they’re over there with their friends)
(someone put things and stuff in it).
We roar about action.
(did he walk fast or sprint? did she smile or did a grin spread across her lips?)
We roar about descriptors fat with ly and er and est explosions.
(happily skipping blithely beyond the fattest pages of the bigger manuscript)
We roar about sentences too long and too short
that start with improper words.
(Because long sentences ramble and rant and spew their wrath around the matted pages of self-importance and self-congratulation that writers all-too-often wrestle with creating for craft’s sake and craft alone. We do.)
Why do we roar?
We Roar because we want to MAKE IT WORK for you,
We Roar because we know and want to follow the guidelines.
(because guidelines help craft to flourish. really.)
We Roar because of the War.
(the inner war)
(The Taskmaster-Gypsy War)
Because a Taskmaster inside of our heads takes out its whip and cracks a few crackeroos
(and screams a few choice expletives)
and puts is finger to our page,
pointing out how WE need to STAY WITH THE PROGRAM and follow writing guidelines
to keep the words and phrases crisp and clear.
(“Follow the rules!”)
And then the Gypsy dances right up to the Taskmaster, spinning and whirling with rippling silks
(and sings a few lines of our favorite song)
and throwing her open palms to the air,
tosses her head back to cry, CREATE! INSPIRE! THIS IS ART!
and we pour out the heart
and let it flow free.
(“Make it rich and powerful!”)
Among it all.
A piece of writing is completed.
Writers keep going.
(in the midst of War)
Hear us Roar.
We emerge, writing strong.