I love this poem by Gloria Bonnell and as fellow writers we can well understand her plight.
"To write well, I forfeit Hugh Laurie and Numbers,
Some cooking, most dusting, and eight-hour slumbers.
I let go of walking and going to town.
I sacrifice sunshine and lounging around.
Now dusting and cooking, well that you can see
Would not be the end of the world, for me.
But sacrifice Krumholtz, the math wizard king?
And House, how bizarre, what a troubling disease!
I might even be episode twenty-three.
Why then, with such sacrifice looming so large
Would anyone write, save to answer a charge?
I'll tell you only once. You should grab a fine pen,
Some paper, a notepad for whom, where and when.
I find, when I write, somewhere up in my head
I stir up those thoughts that I thought were long dead.
They rise with their own force and start me to think
But mostly it keeps me from needing to drink."
There's no link because I could find no info about her on the Internet.