Writer's Block

A sure-fire way to lose some hair,

Is sitting in a writer's chair.

You pick up a pen, write maybe a page,

Then jump up off the chair in rage.

It's not a bad thing – writer's block,

But it pulls a few hours out of the clock.

Just when you thought you could write with speed,

You find – a few more days you'll need.

So you wait a week, and then come back.

You've got it this time! It's in the sack!

You sit your bum upon the chair,

And at the paper, you stare and stare.

Just write a word! It can't be hard!

But your brain is like a tonne of lard.

So once again, you leave the chair,

And leave your story hanging in the air.

Two weeks go past and it lies there still,

Sitting on the window sill.

You think you'd better write some more,

So you sit back down and close the door.

You read the lines that you've already done,

And think Jesus Christ! What was I on?!

This story is a piece of shit!

And into the bin, you casually chuck it.

A fresh idea you now try to find,

So you start to gallop through your mind.

But soon you find this starts to fail,

When you start to wonder what happened in Emmerdale...

A few months later – how fast time can fly,

And one's hopes of writing start to die!

The chair, the paper – they sit and wait,

For inspiration to call at an unlikely date.

And finally, the spring comes round,

It's time to turn the house upside-down.

And that means cleaning out the rooms,

In which your writing chair still looms.

You see it there, this blasted chair,

And you wonder why you ever cared?

You clearly can't write, you never have time,

And you can't even write a single rhyme.

And yet you sit and take a sheet,

And write down all these thoughts, complete.

And soon you're overcome with glee,

As you've written your own autobiography!

To a publisher, you now must go,

You've written a book the world must know!

You go up to Mr. Penguin's door,

And say: "Listen, pal, here's the score!"

"I've written a book – it's so exciting -

About the trials you face when writing."

And your work, the gentleman does read,

And he gasps "By God! This is great, indeed!"

So now you are a millionaire,

With your own private jet flying in the air.

But though you now write with natural flair,

You still sit and write from your writing chair.