I don’t have a feather to fly with…
Impecunious as a church mouse;
And to keep a roof over the keyboard,
I’ve sold half the stuff in the house.
The cupboards hold coffee and biscuits,
The fridge just an elderly egg,
But that’s quite enough for survival,
I don’t have to go out and beg.
See, I chose this career as a writer
And with painting a bit, as you do,
While still earning a crust at the day job,
I just about see the month through.
The house doesn’t really need heating,
I really don’t see it these days,
I just sit at the desk in the corner
While the words dance about in a haze.
On the other hand life’s never boring!
As I roam through a new world each day,
When I wander through imagination
On a quest to find something to say.
And there’s never the slightest dull moment,
No daydreaming, no time to yearn…
‘Cause this Indie self-publishing model
Means always a new skill to learn.
I’ve learned how to edit and format,
I’ve gingerly learned how to prune,
And make cover pictures and promos
And dance to the Amazon tune…
As the night falls I’m burning the candles
When I should be tucked up in my bed,
I am still tapping words on the keyboard
And writing ‘one more page’ instead.
Is it worth it? You ask, so I’ll tell you…
Over there on the shelf… take a look,
Sitting in pride of place in the corner
With my name on the spine of each book…