There is no book/essay that I can recommend more than this for the aspiring writer:

As a child you are a victim, an adult, a volunteer.

So many wrongs, and self abuse, in time to disappear.

The unforgiven have a prison that is dark and wicked deep.

If the unforgiving don’t let go then neither one can sleep.

A great unknown, that time has shown and sometimes looks like change.

If letting go has left some marks, then no words can rearrange.

Tears of laughter and tears of joy, they look the same I guess.

You killed my dog, I’ll kill your cat has no virtues; I confess.

So try and find forgiveness, or maybe just understand.

That if I hurt you I must confess it wasn’t really planned.

I was thinking, partly listening. I was nodding, but deep in past.

You were talking. I know it’s shocking. You were thinking this can’t last.

The balance is fractured broken. . There’s a movement in the air.

All that talking, and no listening. Spinning stuck in, ‘I don’t care.’

She came out of the smoke…

It was always the same.

Beauty flawed.

I couldn’t get enough. So it couldn’t last.

It’s odd how we find the way. The strength.

I left her there. It’s what she wanted.

I see her in my dreams. Always the same.

Beauty flawed. She comes out of the smoke…

I was blinded by the beauty.

You were there and truth be told.

There was this chance that felt like duty.

I had the hand that wouldn’t fold.

My heart was in a flutter.

My dick was in my hand.

You were soft and hard like butter.

I was hope with nothing planned.

I was shunning the excitement.

Fell in love with being bored.

All the reading and enlightenment.

Fell to faith and was restored.

There’s a moment in the ether.

Like a clock forever broke.

You just relax and take a breather.

And watch the past go up smoke.

I am taking in the stage play.

From this perch of breezy cool.

There’s a maiden and a horse Thief.

With few Kingdom’s left to rule.

The neighbor took to drinking.

And then fell into a rut.

Following the appearances of deep thinking.

Then, got all bloated around the gut.

There were moments of rage and ranting.

Followed by hours of hot debates.

And in the sparkling twilight hours.

Where so many mapped their fates.

He went out without a whimper.

I swear he didn’t make a sound.

And fell into the ether where…

So many before have drowned.

He was staring at me in that way that has a tendency to make one feel uncomfortable.

The streetcar was crowded in the way that 2 o’clock in the afternoon is, and there was nothing between us but the empty Isle.

“You have a problem, friend?” I asked quietly.

“I’m not your friend.” He snapped and stood pointing his finger at me… He was bigger than I figured. 6’2″, 200 pounds. “You want me to kick your ass?”

“Be careful what you wish for.” I answered and continued. ” I jump over guys like you to get to a fight.”

And that’s when the trouble began.

“There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used everyone, but there’s only one plot, things are not as they seem.

Jim Thompson