You can’t wait for inspiration.
You have to go after it with a club.

Jack London

I

Arlu read the letter from Tuco, "“Inspiration is for amateurs.
I just get to work.”¹ She never knew what he'd say. Or why.
There was this cowboy bravado covering a curious heart.

Now, where was this letter going? She glanced out the window
and then returned to reading the scrawl Tuco made when rushed.

Somewhere in the first page or two, he'd hit his stride
and the letter flow - lettering settle into place, the lines sing
as he lays open his heart in his own subtle way.

"How do you force yourself to do work
no one (really, like, no one) is clamoring for?"²
That line struck a chord, she knew that mania, that push for inspiration.
The creation was its own reward,
acclaim didn't matter - was very nice, but didn't matter.

A mentor of mine said that true strength is vulnerability.

Chris Lyman, CEO of Fonality

II

She turned to her photos, printed one she knew he'd like
and wrote a note on the back. A short poem.

"When your heart glows in a letter,
I hear the trot of your horse. And
I think you are here, I smell desert scents,
but I turn to shadows
glowing and warm."

She heads to the post office to mail it.
On the way home, stops to buy a plane ticket -
back to their desert home - just as soon as this assignment is done.