Before his death, Stan Rice (husband of Anne) wrote a poem in which the premise is that his writing was often a distraction from his role as a husband. It goes something like this:
"A vain and selfish flower is growing downward/
from my tip-of-spine...one day standing up from this chair
will rip my heart out."
I recently read about Rice's life in an issue of Poets and Writers. The samples of his writing contained within were too provocative and beautiful to forget, too wonderful not to put on my 'to buy' list.
It was naive of me to think, I was the only artist that felt this sense of neglect toward others. I love my children, wife, job...but, many times I find myself inattentive toward family in the pursuit of the muse dying to free itself from my soul with the pen and ink of writing. Guilt will never leave us be, balancing it all forever seems impossible.
-posted by Nobius 5:58 PM 