Too many would-be writers I have known,
who long for fame but don’t make time to write.
Imagining book signings, they postpone
the act of composition day and night
and week to year and never do complete
a narrative. They’ll claim that they await
the time and inspiration, or the meet
initial phrase or title, to create.

Three times I’ve joined a little group of friends,
agreeing to exchange a piece of prose
a week. Then I submitted like a clerk
new stories or old pieces with amends
and edits, but the others ever chose
to otherwise concern themselves, than work.