Every writer, artist and musician has a secret they grind it into dust. The scattered shimmering crystals of their self-mutilated soul are then tucked behind every carefully chosen word, comma and inuendo.

To know the heart of the writer, listen to what he says and doesn’t say. Only when you have partaken of his essence can you know his secret, but you won’t tell others, for you can never tell the secret shared between you and a friend.

He told me that he had a bad case of writer’s block and hadn’t written a thing for a long time. I explained to him how to overcome it. He was skeptical at first, but he finally decided to take my advice. Within minutes, here is what he came up with. I’d say it worked very well.

Sanctuary

Regret. The harsh sting of secret lies. Heavy sighs and painful goodbyes. Slip under the sheets: a fabric fortress built of sweat and tears. Regret. A loss of hope and livelihood. Choking on our tongues, swallowing words. Buried in the shadows sprung from a snowy screen. Regret. The voices that keep you from sleep. The dreams of a brighter tomorrow that never quite came. The greener grass all turns to ash. Regret. Filthy speech. Steel, and twisted skin and bones. The path less traveled. Regret. The noose tied tight and the chair slipping beneath our feet. The fate of what will always be. The sharp realization of what never was. Defeat. Weak and tired. Regret. Despondent and ashamed. The picture frames on the ground. The vast silence in sound. The overwhelming sound in silence. Quiet you! For the moment: alone. So steal my heart, I’ll hold my tongue. And pray to pillows and walls that morning will eventually come.

Regret.

-Logan Ellis

1/29/2007

I’d say my method worked very well, wouldn’t you?

Throughout the ages, poets, authors, philosophers and dreamers have summarily been put to death because their insight, their ability to see beyond the tangible, threatens those who oppress the masses.

This practice is by no means limited to the secular world.  Religious leaders throughout time have murdered the prophets, the followers of truth and even the Messiah.

There comes a time in a man’s life when he must decide whether to bravely face adversity, risk excommunication, prison and even death, or stifle the gift that is within him and whimper into the status quo. Those who choose the latter are not worthy of consideration.

Are you called?  If so, you have an obligation.

Do not neglect the spiritual gift that is in you. 1 Timothy 4:14

Live justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.  Micah 6:8

The name of this site is Author by Night and partially signifies that I maintain a day job and write in the evenings, but there is more to it than that.

The night is when we come face to face with the failures and successes of the day. All alone, we face the failed dreams of our lives or the hopes for tomorrows. The night is a time for retrospect and renewed determination.

I create most of my posts at night and some have noticed a certain melancholy to my mood. Welcome to my world. I, by nature, am not a Rod McKuen type individual. I am actually a rather fun loving guy with a great sense of humor. Maybe it is for that reason I find the night so…healthy. It allows me to maintain a clear perspective on life.

Maybe that is why I write at night, because I see clearer than during the day when I am forced to play society’s game just to get by.

Alone at night, the games are over and reality begins. Don’t you have something you need to write?

Writers, poets, musicians and singers often reach deep into the muse for inspiration, much of which will never reach their expressive medium because they realize that not every experience is meant to be shared.

To know the artist, you have to do more than read his words. You have to read his eyes. You have to visit his muse…if he lets you.