No Doze. (Apologies to every single poet, ever.)

(Maybe even Wordsworth and his %**$##@ daffodils.)

No sleep for me, I’m writing a book!

I have lots of support, but I don’t want them to look

At the work that’s in progress, as what they don’t know

Is that I’ve written drivel that totally blows.

My protag is changing, she used to be cool

And now she’s become a gigantic fool.

She spouts all this Latin to make her sound smart,

Then sleeps with a werewolf, God, what a tart.

She used to be quite a a competent girl,

Cataloguing species was her whole world.

Now she gets into trouble and stands there and screams,

She’s the girl I hate, not the one of my dreams.

Her boyfriend is quite good, if I do say so.

So what if he’s hairy to those in the know?

He keeps his head and he’s really quite cool,

And manages not to be a fool.

But I have no idea about the plot.

The were-octopi are all I’ve got.

Sam says their motivation is revenge,

But I think they’re waiting for this book to end.

I suspect they’re really not that bad,

But no one understands them, and so they’re mad.

Is it enough for them to roam the novel

Consuming homeless people in their makeshift hovels?

Maybe they want a bigger shot?

A chance to be heroes, a chance to be hot?

I just have to keep on writing away,

And hoping my brain won’t gang agley.

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