As I pondered, weak and weary, on a manuscript so dreary
I could stand to look at it upon my screen no more
While I fretted, nearly screaming, suddenly there came a gleaming
As of eyes so bright and beaming, beaming lasers through my door
‘Tis the Editor,’ I muttered, ‘burning through my red front door –
Only this, and nothing more.’
For myself now, writing, writing, fingernails and tongue still biting,
Oh, to be so vain and guilty, coming round to help no more.
From my laptop, blinking slowly, with a feeling dark and lowly,
New Beginnings, cries for help, I continued to ignore.
Even queries I passed over, guess the plots I did ignore.
What a jerk, forevermore.
From the eyes I hid my blogging, manuscripts I now was slogging,
‘I haven’t got the time to help you, not to help you anymore!’
But the eyes still, red with fury, made my own go weak and blurry,
Horror haunted every letter until I could type no more.
‘Please,’ I begged now, ‘I am sorry, I will slack off now no more!’
Quoth the EE, ‘Nevermore.’
Now I shudder, tired and wary, poring over each new query,
Sleeping never never never as I curl up on the floor.
And the Editor, still watching, makes certain there is no botching
Of the duties we both know I must fulfill as once before.
‘But see,’ I whisper, quiet, hopeful, ‘I’ll succeed unlike before,
I shall slack off - nevermore!’
‘Editor! The king of evil! Editor, if man or devil!
As the writing binds us to you – by that craft we all adore
Tell this soul with guilt now laden, if you blame this poor young maiden
For pursuing her own writing, writing she can leave no more!
Please forgive me all my absence, someday I will visit more.
I am minion – Evermore!’