the writer I would like to be
Compare the front side of a restaurant to the back. If we came in the back way by the dumpster where the cooks are smoking on the stoop, would we want to dine at that restaurant? Or if we waited outside the bathroom door, would the sink run at least twenty seconds after a food server flushed the toilet? Even then, we would want to check if there were hot water and soap available.
The writing I serve to the world, I hope, would be prepared in consistency. I would be the cook and the server, the plate cleaner and table washer, and do all well. I would rather hold these ideals and fail at them than have no ideals at all.
Angela Ball, my best poetry tutor, said writers are "the angels of themselves when they write." So what would I hope for myself? Angel tongue and angel wings.