Many have felt the pang of misery, heard it rattlin’ in the dark, pushed it deep down in with them, it shimmers in they heart. It’s the measure of a man, they say. But I ain’t no man. I’m just a writer, we all a writer, and it’s a woman. You understand I got this ache, a little somethin’, somethin’ achy. Put a pencil in this hand. Don’t want no honey piles, too old to train a man, too wise from the get go, too young for idle hands. I’m just a writer. Simple. Easy. The hardest thing I’ll ever do. And ... ain’t got no long tales to tell. We can talk about it, sing about. We can write about it too. Writer, I’m just a writer.