Houston, we are a no go for the poetry contest, abort, abort, abort....
But now I can post my entry here. It's not too horrible, but I am rather biased.
The rules: 100 words or less and it had to contain the phrase 'Brit Writers'. The theme was 'The changing faces of publishing and our world of words'. I'm not even sure what that means.
I think I'll call it... 'I Tried'.
I pour my soul out on the page,
I write my words in a passionate rage.
But rejection is my daily bread,
The editor doesn't care how much I've bled.
Self-publish, e-publish or the more traditional way,
In the end does it really matter? I just can't say.
I send off and send out and apply and appeal,
All the while seeking that one fateful deal.
I rewrite and redraft and start again from scratch,
It's one simple chance I'm desperate to snatch.
Brit Writers everywhere, stay strong and persevere,
There will be a sale somewhere, I promise, never fear.
I am extremely pleased about the fact I rhymed 'scratch' with 'snatch'.
What? C'mon, that's funny. I have to amuse myself somehow.
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