7 April 2009

Note: This doggerel was written about the Creative Writing Group process itself. We get our challenge, we write for an hour, then have tea while reading out our stories to the group.

Challenge: draw three word cards from a pile and use in a piece

My words drawn: bit, fake, water

Words worth-less

As a writer, I often get by just on grit

Grinding things out for the enjoyment of it

I suppose I’d make money if I were a hit

As it is I just pound on, word bit by bit

Classes are scheduled to give you a story

Then search through your brain for creations gory

Or maybe a saga of love, perhaps one of glory.

But usually it’s something that’s only quite “bore-y”

Where do they come from these things that you make

Up in an instant. Don’t stop or don’t take

Too much time, “The end’s coming”, I quake.

And then they’ll all find, that I’m really a fake!

Each time the class challenge makes you think harder

Groping to find that first sentence starter.

Assuming the mantle of the writer as martyr

Hides the bald fact: you’re a simple word farter.

Imagination let loose is a very strange thing

Taking me places I would not usually bring.

Finding pitons of ideas to which I can cling

Attempting a big finish with narrative bling.

It’s all for enjoyment you find your self saying.

Let the words spill right out, stop the ending delaying.

“It will be fine,” I inside am praying.

But when read out loud sounds like an asses braying.

At last I’m in rhythm, the words finally flow.

It’s almost as if I really do know

Where this word drivel must, in the end have to go.

If only the finish wont make me eat crow.

The conclusion’s arrived, the ideas got hotter

If I were using ink, it’d be time for the blotter.

This piece has wound down the way that it ought’er

Now please may I have my tea bag and hot water?