Dancin' On The Tin

BTW to go.

Here I am in my home/Big-Time Writer studio. (Photo by neil kelly: https://www.pexels.com) And yes, I do sleep like a baby… as long as the possums aint dancin’ on the tin.

But they don’t dance all night anyway.

What I don’t worry about.

You know what else I don’t worry about as a big-time writer?

I don’t worry about no rent-man knocking on my door on Sunday morning.

I don’t worry about no neighbors complaining ‘bout my stereo.

I don’t worry if I left my keys in my car.

What I do worry about.

What if my short story actually has 151 words.

What if I don’t have 100 followers by next fall?

What if perky li’l’ whats’er name talks about me like a dog in a YouTube video, and suddenly, no big pubs will touch my stories?

If I get the covert, who’s gonna feed my polo ponies?

Life can be a struggle.

Maybe it’s not always a Hallmark movie.

But the way I see it, it’s the next best thing!

P.S.

Tune in later when we discover on Writer-Man, that, while he pedaled down to the Kwik-Sak for a pack of Luckies, some “punk-*ss kid” lit a couple of Sunday papers under his studio, melted the Astro-Turf some, and left a stink even Ajax wouldn’t remove.