measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The WriMo (A poem in progress by several members of the NaNoWriMo boards.) Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of wrimo lore-- While I nodded-out, nearly napping, suddenly there came a scratching, As of some one gently scribbling, scribbling at my chamber door, " 'Tis some strange visitor," I muttered, "scribbling at my chamber door-- Perchance a Wrimo, nothing more." Ah, distinctintly I remember, it was the first of November, And my mind had not a glimmer of what should be my novel's core. My fingers flexed and tightened, upon the keyboard whitened, My very emotions heightened, heightened to do the chore. For the words that must today be written should I keep to what I swore, Idealess, as before. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each typed sheet Thrilled me--being filled with such fantastic errors not quite meet, So that now, to beat the stilling of my heart, I stood repeating The same line as was wrought before, and before, and before-- 'Til 'ere long I lay entreating, prostrate at my chamber door. This I did and nothing more. Presently my muse grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Chapter two," typed I, then faltered, mind now blocking as before; Now I felt like nought but napping, lost all will to character mapping, Mind in cottony numbness trapping, trapping every metaphor; Though I read it o'er and o'er, seeking to open wide that door -- Blankness there and nothing more. Deep into that blankness peering, long I lay there wondering, fearing, Pouting, screaming screams no mortals ever had heard before; Now the silence thus was broken, into the stillness I had spoken, To the muse I had awoken, a pleading whisper, "Give me more!" This I begged, and my muse only murmured to me the word, "Boar!" - Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my words within me burning, Soon again I felt a tapping, something stronger than before, "Surely, said I, "surely, that is something to improve my status, A literary apparatus, that will allow me to explore. Let my heart be still a moment, and this new device explore. 'Tis a sneeze, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a spurt and sputter, In stepped a frenzied Wrimo of the faintly days of yore. Not a single reference gave he; a frantic state did thus betrayed he, But, with the mein of James Grady, perched upon my notes for Chapter Four - Perched upon the character sketch of Alice who appears in Chapter Four - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then the bony bard beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn of halo, pray," I said, "drink not Drano, Ghastly grimy, ancient Wrimo wandering from the Nightly shore-- Tell me what thy lofty aim is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Wrimo, "Store 24." Much I marvelled this ungainly fool to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bard upon his notes of Chapter Four-- Bard or beast upon the character sketch destined for Chapter Four, With such aim as "Store 24." (mmmm.... Store 24.... caffeine.... ) 19:41 p.m. - 21 October 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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