I know, I know, I know, my dishes fill the sink.
The ironing’s piled up high and my life is on the brink.
But there are twenty pages more that I have to write,
Before this very day becomes this very night.
The lawns they do need mowing, but you can hire a guide,
For from front gate to my front door I’m sure you will survive.
A plague or two dust bunnies breed beneath my bed,
While characters and settings bounce around my head.
I woke with such a start in the middle of last night,
A stunning bright idea almost made my heart take flight.
I raced towards the study and tripped upon the dog
And suddenly I found my mind enveloped in a fog.
I sat and sat and waited, for inspiration to return,
But my muse had up and taken that holiday I yearn.
Just yesterday my editor had shown to me her ire,
“Chapter eight and chapter nine by Monday I desire.”
I glanced around the study, and frowned in consternation
What reason can I quickly find for my hero’s altercation?
And who, what, why, where, how and when,raise their ugly head.
I also need a sneaky way to have a villain dead.
A bleary glance upon the clock, revealed it two A.M.
Please, dear Lord, some sleep I need, I pray with soft Amen
My mind is gone without a doubt, and insanity I pled
When my editor phones and asks of me, “Why are you still in bed?”
I wish that I could wake, and sleep, and eat in automation,
while my mind produces twisting plots with perfect inspiration.
The writer’s life brings joy and pain and takes much energy,
But write I must and here I know, I’m in good company.
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