Another intense week with a low word count but considerable progress.

Distractions came with the terrible news that America was getting a new President who likes books very much and even reads them. He even wrote one, well he had one ghost written for him, but that still counts, doesn’t it? The thing is that he announced his intention to take away support for the arts. That bothered me. Well, there’s more but I don’t want to talk about that, here.

The exigencies of financial survival demanded most of my time. Gotta earn a living and my earning activities took up the better part of the week, though I managed about a thousand words and much reading up on the nuts and bolts of selling books. My first book was written and kicked out of the nest with no preparation and no follow-up support.

“Fly my eagle,” I commanded.

It fell to the ground and lay there, breathing but unmoving. I’m not going to repeat that mistake.

I’m still determined to finish; a big effort over the next ten days must be enough.

In the meantime, here’s a song I wrote last night.

I was forced to write this in spite of my commitment to the Challenge. I justified it as clearing the mental and emotional workspace of irrelevant clutter.

Midnight

Midnight comes too quickly
And stays too long
Moments of living and loving
Hidden in my song.

What remains is all I am
When there’s nothing left.

So blow wind blow
While I tell this winter’s tale
Of the sun’s sweet victory
We know how this one ends.

What remains is all I am
When there’s nothing left.

Sweet mother mine
Your fatal offspring
We poor unfortunates
Deny redemption

What remains is all I am
When there’s nothing left.

Sweet mother mine
No mercy no mercy

Now comes the silent spring. (Repeat  three times to fade)

It’s a song, set to original music; I’d play it for you but I don’t want to send you running for the hills.