THIS NOVEL OF MINE

I look for a novel

Idea to find

Deep in my heart

And deep in my mind

*

A character appears

A new story-line

I spew forth his tale

I know it’s not mine

*

I’m a medium of sorts

A conjurer of words

That tells you his story

This novel of mine

*

Where do we go

I’ll take you he said

A journey to nowhere

With this man in my head

*

I’m losing my grip

My plot is not sound

How will I end this

What twist can be found

*

Just follow the voice

The man in my head

Then trip him and flip him

Don’t let him be fed

*

He’ll find a way out

Or else he’ll be dead

It’s his job to find it

It’s my job it’s said

*

So bleed on the keyboard

Put it all down

I’ll fix it later

This first draft of mine

*

His story’s complete

The story I wrote

So I relax and enjoy

This moment of note

*

Because now I must read

That first draft I wrote

And I will not like it

It’s full of word bloat

*

So I must turn

From killing my man

To killing my prose

Of the weak and the canned

*

I’m a slayer of adverbs

And the passive voice

To make it read lively

But not like James Joyce

*

It’s a helluva task

To remove what I wrote

Like throwing away

A favorite old coat

*

But I read it again

And I certainly note

It reads much better

Without the old bloat

*

But something is wrong

This new draft of mine

It lacks something special

It lacks flow and rhyme

*

So I re-write again

It’s a bloody damn crime

To read it once more

For the sixty-sixth time
*

I’m ready almost

To let it be read

From cover to cover

By eyes that aren’t mine

*

My God! What they say

Is it really that bad

No one will read this

I feel really sad

*

I pull it together

And get kind of mad

It’s time to re-write it

This novel of mine

*

But where is the voice

The man in my head

I need him to tell me

What else to be said

*

I drink and I smoke

And sink in my head

Looking to find

This novel of mine

*

The dog needs a walk

And garbage trucks grind

The gears in my head

Have rusted I find

*

The muse has escaped me

And the man in my head

Refuses to help me

I wish I were dead

*

What possessed me to write this

I may never know

But polish I must

To make the thing glow

*

He visits again

A night when it’s late

And no one’s around

So I finish his fate

*

And finished at last

No typo is left

It has  ISBN

And its cover’s a blast

*

Let luck take it somewhere

I hope it is read

By people who like it

My novel ain’t bad

***

Copyright 2015 by Andrew Hall

What the hell…now I’m writing poetry?

Where is this coming from?