18/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation
Once upon a time
There was a writer who was very sad
Because her words would not come to her
They were behaving very bad
They teased her relentlessly
And would not work as a team
They played mischief with her mind
Like a nightmare, not a dream
She looked out into the sky above
And wished upon a star
That she’d find some inspiration
That her reputation, it wouldn’t mar
Then the heavens opened up
Lightening flashed thick and fast
Thunder cracked over head
And a spell, it was cast
Her fingers flew across the keys
Injecting a magic to her story
It was like nothing else that she had written
And would cover her with glory
Before she knew the night was over
And the sun peered over the horizon far
But her masterpiece, it was complete
Ready to sell at the bazaar
She phoned every publisher
But every door slammed in her face
She was as yet undiscovered
She had yet to find her place
What little feedback she received
Was like a dagger to her chest
She’d poured out her heart and soul
And she’d tried her very best
As she poured over library books
On how to become a better writer
A woman sat down opposite her
And she suddenly felt much lighter
“I see you are a writer,”
The wise old woman said
And the writer peeked over her book
With a sense of fear and dread
“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,
I’m hear to help you out
They call me fairy godmother
But you can call me Bubblesprout
“That’s not my real name, you know
It’s my nom de plume
And I think it rather suits me
But it’s you I’ve come to groom.”
The writer put down the book
And looked this woman up and down
She appeared to be quite grandmotherly
But dressed in a grandiose ballroom gown.
The writer thought herself imagining
When Bubblesprout stood up
She thought she saw actual sparkles
And was that an actual buttercup?
She followed her in a daze
To where she’d parked her car
“Oh, no, this will never do”
She exclaimed as if a movie star
With a flourish, she produced a wand
And waved it round and round
Muttering incoherent words
Until the car could not be found
In its place a carriage stood
Adorned with gold and jewels
But no one walking by seemed to care
Were they blind or just poor fools?
“Are we going to meet a prince?”
Asked the writer in disbelief
Bubblesprout smiled then laughed
And answered “Oh, good grief!
“What do you want a prince for?
What you need is an editor in chief
To turn your beautiful work of art
Into something beyond belief.”
The writer smiled and laughed herself
And handed over the manuscript
She caught her breath in anticipation
And a beat in her heart was skipped
The pages fluttered as if enchanted
Words rearranging themselves
A wonderfully crafted cover formed
The book ready to hit the shelves
“How long will this magic last?”
The writer queried in earnest
And Bubblesprout turned to her
With a look that was the sternest
“This magic is within you
Whenever you choose it,
You never needed me at all
It’s yours when you want to use it.”
And with that she disappeared
Leaving only a puff of smoke
The writer sitting in her car
Wondering if she’d had a stroke
But there on the passenger seat
Sat a book so finely bound
And tucked between its pages
A card was to be found
Upon the card was the name
Of a publisher of high repute
Who could see the writer’s vision
And plan a campaign to suit
The writer then lived
Happily ever after
In a world that celebrated her
And joined in her laughter
Now, I know what you’re all thinking:
What kind of absurdity is this?
That’s not how publishing works
There’s something terribly amiss
And while you’re probably right
You’re also probably wrong
Because with the help of a good editor
You know it can’t be long
How long long is is difficult
To put a specific number on
But when it happens, look out
Through bookstore doors you’ll swan
So have faith in your abilities
Get your own Bubblesprout
Because rejections are going to happen
But one day you’ll get to shout
THIS is my book
And it’s not a fairytale
It’s as real as real can be
Available in print, audio and braille
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