A writer's one big decision
Is producing fact or fiction
Careful not to upset factions
Of well organized religion
when can you reveal a secret
When they'd said promise you'll keep it
Years later, when they're dead and gone
Surely you can speak up, move on?
Until you unexpected find
That distant folk are not so blind
For unaccountably they mind
Protecting what\s been left behind
They think of their reputation
Of their family and nation
Is it damaged beyond repair
We share our ancestors as heirs
So in the writer's anxious eyes
Is built the heaviest disguise
For no matter how hard one tries
The world fights over all your lies
And when you smiling read aloud
To entertain a happy crowd
Prepare, when cornered, what to do
When one demands, was that girl you?
Be honest, is that story true?
You can think and blink, um and ah
But saying no won't get you far
When you sell signed books in the bar
So here's the safest thing to do
You must pretend it isn't you
Set your wild plot up in the stars
Put your whole family on Mars
You can't defame the old, deceased
And at the very, very least
You can escape, and find release.
Pretend the villains wanted peace
Of course you pity those who hide
Of course you pity those who died
It's tempting to kill enemies
Wishful thinking is sure to please
However much the readers scoff
You can't kill hated villains off
That's not the clever thing to do
You need to save them for book two.
-ends-
Please share links to your favourite posts
