‘Twas the night before NaNo, when all through the house
Not a computer was stirring, not even a mouse;
The outlines were hung by the printer with care,
In hopes that the Muses soon would be there;
The writers were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of word counts danced in their heads;
And husband in his boxers, and kids all retired,
Had just settled in for a long November caffeine wired,
When out in the office arose such a clatter,
My novel did sit there, cover all tattered.
Away to the clutter did I swiftly rush
To see my byline and Neil Gaiman did gush
In a blurb of my greatness on a cover so fine
That some engrossed soul had spilled some cheap wine.
What could it mean? I did so ponder;
For such a sight to fill me with wonder?
The hours and hours of trouble and toil
Would plant a good seed in such fertile soil?
Maybe this year my idea, half-baked,
Would bear fine fruits and a career path staked?
With visions of greatness and awards in my mind,
I cracked the book open like a thick melon rind.
To my shock and amazement, the pages all blank,
My novel was unwritten, and my broken heart sank.
But then within me did a fanciful notion
Arise like the depths of the Pacific Ocean.
The words were all there in their own little way
Just waiting for me to in some way convey.
Waiting for weary fingers steadily to type
With partners and children and spouses to hype.
With a shiver of knowing that I might still write
The novel that Neil Gaiman might someday delight,
I lay my head down for one last good wink
And dreamed of rough draft pages all covered in ink.
Best of luck to everyone doing #NaNoWriMo tomorrow!
JM Franklin - Writer 