ink pot

It was a snow white day when the mirror first exposed the life altering sign. The pot was invoked. She is not a writer after all, had been tattooed to the fleshy part of her brain. Had she only been standing on the podium of misappropriated ink, a misfortune of desiring and not truly being?

Years earlier her heart could not speak over her lips so she conjured ink to story through her fingertips. To the invocation ceremony she invited her past and present influences, Lewis Carroll, Mary Magdalene, Pierre Abelard, Jane Austen, Haruki Murakami, Antony and the Johnsons, Nina Simone, Leonard Cohen, her Parents, children and friends. Each guest present poured a vial of their blood and sweat into the ink pot. She dips her fingers into the pot daily, and it is perhaps true, you might not truly read her.

But over time and on the day of snow white her heart melted sound and it became clear, she is an inspired flesh and blood writer. And if you watch her lips carefully, you will hear her say.

I wrote the not because I am haunted.
Perhaps that makes a writer, after all.

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Comments

  • JRGarland
    JRGarlandabout 3 years ago

    I absolutely agree! You are a writer after all.

  • awww thanks JR :)

    – Lisa Jewell

  • Mark Ramstead
    Mark Ramsteadabout 3 years ago

    Haunting and enchanting.

  • Thank you so much, Mark…much appreciated x

    – Lisa Jewell

  • Zolton
    Zoltonabout 3 years ago

    Beautiful.

  • Thanks so much Zolton :) x

    – Lisa Jewell

  • msdebbie
    msdebbieabout 3 years ago

    Oh so lovely and inspiring Lisa, do you remember this journal where I wrote about how NS makes me think of you? Today it is Please read me
    Many years ago I was a simple girl
    A simple girl, no worries me;
    I never lied
    Please read me.
    Not much conversation ever came from me,
    I never saw reality;
    I never tried.
    Please read me.
    Ah….
    Maybe I’ve been lying on your couch too long
    I’ll stay if you can see me through, explain why
    Please read me. Please read me. Please read me.

    And this is despite my own Mood Indigo
    You ain’t never been blue, no, no, no
    You ain’t never been blue
    Till you’ve had that mood indigo
    That feeling goes stealing right down to my shoes
    While I just sit here and sigh
    Go along blues

    I always get that mood indigo
    Since my baby said goodbye
    And in the evening when the lights are low
    I’m so lonely I could cry
    For there’s nobody who cares about me
    I’m just a poor fool that’s bluer than blue can be
    When I get that mood indigo
    I could lay me down and die

    You ain’t been blue, no, no, no
    You ain’t never been blue
    Till you’ve had that mood indigo
    That feeling goes stealing right down to my shoes
    While I just sit here and sigh
    Go along blues

  • you are so precious Darling Deb, of course I remember the journal :) thank you for this post, it has made my evening xoxoxoxo

    – Lisa Jewell

  • Matt Penfold
    Matt Penfoldabout 3 years ago

    Write on my friend :) x

  • will do, Mr x

    – Lisa Jewell

  • © Karin  Taylor
    © Karin Taylorabout 3 years ago

    i love this and on reflection of those final two sentences, can relate very much to the not as I have a similar part of my brain inked with ’she is not an artist after all…….it all makes sense :)
    fantastic write Lisa…you are so clever and such an excellent writer xxx

  • Oh thank you so much, Karin x
    it is always a comfort and a gift to hear someone else relate. It makes a person feel less alone. xxxx

    – Lisa Jewell

  • Rex Inkpen
    Rex Inkpenabout 3 years ago

    i like the way you incorporated your impressive list of muses in this poignant piece. x

  • Thanks Rex,
    it was hard to decide for there is of course many others :) x

    – Lisa Jewell

  • Laurie McClave
    Laurie McClaveabout 3 years ago

    Love love/ you the writer, you the woman :) xoxox

  • awwwwwwww ditto, Laurie xoxoxo

    – Lisa Jewell

  • Ms N. Chatter
    Ms N. Chatterabout 3 years ago

    Oh how wonderful – _ Each guest present poured a vial of their blood and sweat into the ink pot. _ such an image as this. I think perhaps we are all a tiny bit haunted…

  • yes I agree, we are each a tiny bit haunted. Thank you so kindly x

    – Lisa Jewell

  • sandra22
    sandra22about 3 years ago

    " …she is an inspired flesh and blood writer."

    xx

    Sandra xo

  • love you too xx

    – Lisa Jewell

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