Writing, writer, write, writes, written, wrote, writ, wrath, wroth aka The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

To Writing:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee when I wake up in the morning and
haven't had coffee yet, and I sit down at my computer
with a head full of ideas and
not one of them will come out through my typing fingers.

I love thee when I am at work
And I have three calls on hold
And my boss is waiting in the hallway for me
to get off the phone, and then a student
sends me an email asking me to look
at something that she needs back by four pm
if I don't mind and I look at the clock and it's three forty nine
And the only thing in my head is
"How am I going to get my character out of there?
Why doesn't anyone help her? Why did I let her
get into that situation in the first place?"

I love thee when I am in the throes of a great idea
and my characters are talking to each other
and they are actually funny
and then Ariel, my cat, comes in and sees that
I am really working.
And she climbs up on my desk and sits on my hands and I put her down on the floor
after kissing her on the head and she rebounds like a rubber band. Down, up, down, up
until finally my characters get frustrated and go to get a drink in a bar somewhere
without me.

I love thee when I am sitting in the living room staring into space
and I can see and hear in my head the action that I have been pondering for the past
three weeks. And then Marc walks in and sees me and says, "What are you doing?"
and I say, "Thinking," and just keep on doing it. And then in two minutes he comes
back and says, "When is your next packet due?" and my stomach clenches and my mind
goes blank.

I love thee best, I admit, when a little epiphany taps me on the shoulder
and I turn around, and it says, "Hello, my lovely" and shoots me
with a gun made of its pointed index finger and thumb
right in the center of the forehead. And
I know immediately what happens next
and the writing on the page transforms somehow
and when I read back over it I am truly, deeply happy.

Except for that one word on the second page that just never seems right.