Writer Dreaming
By Regina Garvie

A published author
That elusive title that slips through my fingers
Like salt spilling on the floor
So alive and full of flavor
And almost mine
But not
Tonight I saw my agent speak
She read her book, she was applauded
I felt no sorrow, only gladness
At her, her success, her happiness
But now, quiet, alone, I remember
The pain this week when all my author friends
Talked and laughed
About the festival they were speaking at
The event they were all a part of
And I felt left out
Like a junior high me by myself in a crowd
Alone
Surrounded, but alone
They didn’t mean to do it
I know that
But it still was a stark reminder
Of what they are
And what I’m not
I want what they have
I want what my agent has
I want what my agent’s other clients have
My words – my worlds on paper
Hard cover. Dust jacket.
Spine cracking as I pull it open and
s-m-e-l-l
The scent of my dreams
My name on the cover
My dedication in the front
My thanks in the back
My life on every page
And my turn at last!
My friends at my signing
At my reading
At my launch party
Reading my words
And telling me that they like them.
That they like them.
Because liking my words, my dreams, my worlds
Would be everything.
But not yet.
Not yet.
And so I wait.
And I write.
And sometimes I cry
But sometimes I don’t.
Keep writing, Regina.
Keep hoping
Keep praying
Keep waiting.
Keep writing.
Keep writing.
Keep writing.

10.20.2018