Greetings, WYMOP fans!
So it was Monday morning. Monday. The day my blog is due to post.
Did I have a post prepared?
Did I even have an idea for a post?
Not a problem, I thought, as I created a new document, one I was going to leave open open my Chromebook all day with the title showing, to inspire me!
What was the title? Well, it was the one you see above, exactly: BRILLIANT BLOG POST, DUE BY THE END OF THE DAY! I would look at that every time I opened my Chromebook, see it all day long, and from out of the ether an idea would strike my brain like lightning—though hopefully without all that frying my brain until it reached the size, shape, and consistency of a single Pringle. BBQ style. And this idea would strike because, as a wise woman once told me, magic!
See? I had a plan.
But while I was waiting for the plan to come to fruition, for the idea to plummet from the ether, for the magic to work . . . well, stuff happened. A forward I was waiting for, from a fantastic author, came in this morning. A seventy-three year old woman gave birth on my route this afternoon, to triplets. A pack of wild dogs chased me across the moors, but I managed to lose them in the fog. I won the American Family Publishers Sweepstakes, and they actually dug up Ed McMahon so he could present me with the funny, giant check . . .
Okay, none of those things really happened except for the foreword from that author—but I’m a geek, so that was pretty damn exciting for me! The upshot, however, is that I came home and realized I hadn’t ever even started a blog.
I stared at the screen, waiting for the magic. I tried saying abracadabra. I tried saying hocus pocus. I even tried the most magical of all words (at least according to my mom), and said please.
But I don’t want to leave you with nothing, do I? You mean more to me than that, don’t you?
Why yes! Yes you do.
There’s a writers group I belong to at a local library, and we meet twice a month and read our stuff to each other. Two of the women read their poetry every week. It’s beautiful stuff, and I can’t write poetry, but I’ve decided I’m going to share some nursery rhymes I rewrote a couple of years ago. It’s pitiful doggerel, but I think it’s funny; hopefully, they will, too. As a sneak preview, here’s one of the pieces I’ll be tormenting them with tomorrow.
I call it “Fit for a King.”
Sing a song of sixpence
A pocket full of rye.
Four and twenty blackbirds,
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened,
The King began to scream,
As four and twenty undead birds
up from that pie did stream.
The King was in the dining hall,
A-fighting for his life;
The queen was in the parlor,
A-sharpening her knife.
The witch was in the kitchen,
Her pocket full of rye,
Peeking in the dining room
To see the King did die.
And once the King was just a corpse,
And risen birds dispersed,
The Queen did slit the witch’s throat
So’s not to fill her purse.
So just a note to castle kings,
And wife-beating tough guys:
Beware of bats and burning beds
And zombie blackbird pies.
I know: terrible, isn’t it? But it makes me chuckle, and if I can’t entertain them, at least I’ll be entertaining myself, right?
Talk to you later!
~ ~ * * ~ ~
And, just as an added bonus, check out this trailer for the next book featuring my work:
Insanity Tales II: The Sense of Fear
Available in October!