“I will be an author,” I say to myself.
Can’t wait for my books to sit up on that shelf.

My life as an author will be easy, right?
How hard can it be to just sit down and write?

I’ll be rich and famous in no time at all.
I’ll go and see Oprah when I get that call.

I have an idea for series books.
No dinner this week and there’s no time to cook.

It’s going to be perfect. Oh, yes, I can tell.
I’ll knock it out quickly. It’s certain to sell.

There’s no time to shower or put on my clothes.
I have to decide between rhyming or prose.

I have to admit it… I never read.
But, that is okay. I know what children need.

Who am I fooling? This whole thing is crazy.
I should get a REAL job and stop being lazy.

My new story is perfect. It is tried and true.
Dr. Seuss did it so why can’t I, too?

I’ll have my friend illustrate it for me.
I’m even thinking she’ll do it for free.

No one can read it. I’m the only one.
I’ll send it right off… the moment it’s done.

What is this craziness? A story arc?
Don’t know what that is. I’ll just stay in the dark.

This story sucks. No, I don’t have a prayer.
I thought this was just about “butt in the chair.”

My new story is perfect. The lesson is clear.
I’m sure that it will be the hit of the year.

A classic for sure. Only two thousand words.
Five hundred you say? Well, that’s for the birds.

I don’t really care what others may think.
It’ll sound better when I start to drink.

No rhyming they say? They are all fools.
I’m different. I don’t have to follow their rules.

This sh*t won’t sell. Don’t know what to do.
Should I ditch it now and start something new?

My new story is perfect. Can’t wait to be signed.
I wrote every word with this agent in mind.

I’ve worked forever… days…. on this story.
Isn’t it time yet to bask in the glory?

A nice five page query. Addressed to… Dear Sir.
That way it will reach the right person for sure.

It’s been three whole days. Why haven’t I heard?
It’s rude that the agent has not said a word.

Why oh why is this taking so long?
It’s clear that this *$#ing **&$** agent is wrong.

My new life’s not perfect. It has its flaws.
It’s full of swearing and gnashing of jaws.

Turmoil, dread. I’m insecure.
Sometimes I wonder if I can endure.

Then I remember just why I do this.
I see a child reading. Feelings of bliss.

So, the time has come to start anew.
For I am a writer… that’s what I do.