Writers often discredit their work. The ‘real’ world is falling to pieces, whether politically, emotionally, financially or whatever. Bigger things should be done than sitting quietly at a desk writing words that may or may not ever be read.

I have never heard someone say, How can I knit in times like these? Or how can we plant flowers? Why would we make bread in times like these? Writing is simply one of the many ways to share yourself with the world.

Here are two poems written with apologies to Shel Silverstein and Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I asked my mentor,
How can I write in times like these?
And my mentor asked me,
How can you knit in times like these?
How can you plant a tree? Or bake bread?
How can you take time to wash a window?
Or wind the clock?
Why would you feed your cat today?
Or water the houseplants?
And is there ever a good time to sing?
How can you pray in times like these?
Or talk over the fence with your neighbor? 
And on and on and on he went.
I'll never ask my mentor
About writing
Again.

How do I write? Let me count the ways.
I write to learn and change and grow
As far as my pen can reach. When feeling alone
I write to know that you're there too
I write to the level of living twice,
To archive today's basic needs, to list the groceries,
I write by sun and candlelight, a normal day,
I write freely, striving for the right word
I write purely, it is the most human thing I do
I write with passion and apathy, with courage,
I write with grief and with childhood's memories
I write if all I do is lose
My credibility, I write with every thought
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and if God choose, 
I shall but write it better after death. 
--Liz