I signed my fingers to the bone 

It was a wondrous sight to see 

The book buffs and the fans alone 

Made it a major thing for me 

A novice writer still, myself  

With only one book selling 

It seemed to fly right off the shelf 

The novel premise quite compelling 

(I couldn’t stop my head from swelling)

A cardboard cut-out stands and smiles 

It’s me in a much larger scale 

And on the table up in piles 

My book is published and on sale 

I signed my fingers to the bone 

So thankful to feel equal 

To the best writers ever known  

I could make a spin-off and a prequel  

(Then I’ll get started on the sequel) 

Pinching myself I suddenly woke 

After all that work and all that scheming 

Alas with that, the spell was broke 

It turns out I was only dreaming 

(My claim for fame was just slipstreaming)

For a little while I felt quite blessed 

My novel in the pipeline 

I guess I could still stand the test 

With an imagination quite like mine 

My talents for prose and rhyme combine 

It's every Indie author's vision 

To get our big chance one fine day 

Just like the one whose best decision 

Was to publish Fifty Shades of Grey 

If writer's block would leave me be 

Another Rowling you could see 

Don't hold your breath, I'm not that good 

Would that I could, I surely would 

(But what would be the likelihood?)

Oh well to work with eager finger 

Upon the keyboard keys I type 

Sometimes I write great things that linger 

And sometimes ...

I just turn out tripe!