To be or not to be - A part of the Rhythm Nation

To be, or not to be— part of the Rhythm Nation
that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler to break the color lines
And work together, to improve our way of life
Or to lend a hand against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No struggle —no progress to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--

To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
This is the test, No struggle, no progress
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
To help your brother do his best
Things are getting worse…
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
We have to make them better, it’s time to give a damn
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
Join voices in protest, to social injustice
A generation full of courage, come forth with me

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
Things are getting worse
It’s time to give a damn
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. –
Time to take action
People of the world unite
Strength in numbers, we can get it right

Be all my sins remembered.
To look for a better life
Strength in our numbers
We can get it right

One time
We

Are a part

,of the Rhythm Nation

Blank Page

There is a common misnomer that a writer's greatest fear is a blank page. There is some truth to it, but they don't understand the fear itself.

It's not from the daunting task of filling the page, or even the uncertainty of what to place upon that page. It's the reason writers get excited about something as mundane or silly as new stationary supplies.

It's because that blank page represents the limitless potential of what we could put down upon that page. That mixed with the limited time we have to place text upon said page means that we have to sift through all the potential floating around in our heads and decide what will actually see the light of day.

It's a daunting task because of the sheer responsibility of it all. And not to you, or the publisher or the editor but to the unspoken connection and agreement between writers and that other place where all of these stories and ideas and potentialities emerge from. It's a place seldom spoken of by writers, but we all know its there, and no, none of us truly understand it. Thus the magic. Thus the responsibility. Thus the fear that we're perhaps going to make the wrong choice somehow. Maybe.

But so too comes the excitement of what might be, of what will be, and the quiet reflection and joy of a job well finished. It's not the accolades of the athlete or politician who's victory is cheered in the streets and stadiums. It's not even the adulation some few of us receive that manage to cultivate a following.

It's that quiet moment in a room alone when set down the pen, when we hit save for the final time and smile, knowing that this particular journey is finally finished.

And then it's on the next one...