I thought thoughts about writing in the nicest of ways.
I looked at the sunshine, and got it into my head,
That the best place to write would be snuggled up in bed.
So I broke out the laptop and snuggly I got,
And with warm toes and bum I wrote really a lot.
I had a cup of tea and petted the cat,
And wrote more words about science fiction this and that.
It got me thinking more thoughts about this writing malarky,
And working for yourself can be really quite sparkly.
No no, not sparkly of the vampire kind,
I'd quite happily dropkick them vamps in their shiny behinds.
I could write while on holiday, while cruising on a boat,
I could write in a car, or riding on a goat.
Well maybe not a goat, because they're bumpy and small,
And lappy's are expensive to replace if they happen to fall.
The point is, that I've found I do care,
That I can write just about here there and everywhere!
I'll sit on a mountain, and tappity tap tap,
Or I'll sit by the sea with words and wine in my lap.
This isn't to say the writers life is carefree,
It's hard to make a buck as a bard, you'll agree.
But if I come out of the day feeling happy and keen,
I'll know a waste of a day it really hasn't been.
|Today is a good day...even the sunshine smells good.|