Twas the last night of the year and what do I see?
A pile of rejection letters staring at me.

Oh, woe’s me. I fill up my glass, plop down in front of the fire,
hoping for an idea, a thought, something to inspire.

But the clock is ticking and the kids start to shout,
“Are you done with your writing? It’s time to go out!

I think to myself as I start to smile,
the thoughts that are coming may take a while.

With pen to paper I sit and the words begin to knit.
With any luck it won’t be complete shit.

The fire is popping and I am not stopping.
The main character is talking, her love is walking.
There’s flying and spying and oh God, someone’s dying!

I scribble and scratch to keep up the with cast.
Who knows how long this creative genius will last?