Dana

“I want to write poems and lines that flow;

I want to tantalize you with visions

And lend seeds for you to sow.

I find my words lost and my heart not in it

I’m craving some sanity

And don’t know how to begin it.”

I handed her the paper with the words written out and waited for her to respond, she slid it back across the table to me and sat back in her chair and just stared at me. I felt uncomfortable and uneasy under her hard gaze, I could feel her disappointment in me and that killed me inside. If only she knew that my own disappointment was far stronger than hers could ever be, I knew I was falling short of where I wanted and needed to be, I knew too well that I had grown complacent in my own life, but I felt unsure about how to change it all, how to proceed.

“You’re not writing your life’s script in pencil,” she said softly, her eyes never releasing me, “it’s all in pen, so you can’t erase things, but you can damn sure re-do, re-invent and rewrite. I’m just not sure what sign you’re waiting for.”

I looked at the floor unsure of how to answer her, the truth is I had no answer for her at all, because I wasn’t even sure myself of what I was waiting for, or looking for, I really just knew that I was and had, held on to too many excuses to not make the move.

“What is it that you want from me, what can I do to make you feel safe enough to step fully into this?” She asked, but I could hear the demanding tone in her voice, she’s frustrated with me, tired of waiting on me, and I suppose I can agree with her on all counts.

“I think I’m just scared, Dana.” It came out of me in little more than a whisper, as though even my voice was afraid to be strong right then. Fear is a powerful force if not handled properly; and I understood more and more that maybe I wasn’t handling it well at all in some aspects of my life.

As I sat there looking at my agent across the table, I knew her patience was going to run out soon if I didn’t do something, and that scared me more than anything ever had; I couldn’t lose her because whether anyone else knew it or not, she was my backbone, my strength, my inner DIVA, and she was absolutely vital to my life. “Just don’t leave me, I promise I’m getting there…” my voice trailed off as the tears welled up in my eyes and I looked up at her pleadingly. “I’m not weak or frail, and I’m not a quitter, I know I can do this, just please don’t abandon me.” I said.

“I’m right here waiting…waiting for the Gold.” I knew exactly what she meant and what she was referring to in that moment and I just smiled and nodded. We finished our coffee and rose to leave, she didn’t hug me this time, just gave me that look of “Just stop giving me lip service and DO this.” And I fully understood.

A wise man once said that if you want to get a readers attention and hold it, you have to pack a powerful punch in the first paragraph on the very first page to make them want to keep turning the pages to find out what’s going to happen next; in essence the same message that my agent has been giving me for years now. As I walk out of the café this morning, I realize that I have to figure out why I am so afraid to punch.