Tag Archives: Banish the Inner Editor

Letter to My Inner Editor


The thing about you,
Inner Editor,
is that you always say
you’re just trying
to help.

That’s your story.

But you arrive
way too early
for the party.

You barge right in.
You never ring the bell,
take your shoes off
at the door
or use the lovely slippers
I’ve left out
for my guests.

You walk through
my writing house
{that fragile little space}
with your muddy boots
and your six pack.

I watch you
grow big
and bloated
on my writing fears.

Shame is your favourite dessert.

But you are not welcome here.
Not yet.
Take your beer and get out.

After I’ve finished my novel,
my glorious first draft,
I’ll invite you back
but we’re drinking champagne
and you will have to wear those slippers.

My writing house,
my rules.