worldper

See more writing by worldper

View worldper's profile

Add a comment

Subscribe to worldper's RSS feed

After spending a year trying to get a piece of prose published that was better designed for a 'How Not To Write" book, I penned - or clicked as is the case in modern times and with ergonomic keyboards - a song sung to the Don McClean tune, American Pie.  If this tune isn't familiar to you, I suggest someplace like iTunes.

Anyway, it's best not to waste those creative moments, even when no one is buying..

American Style

(sung to the tune of American Pie)

A long, long time ago

I could still write prose

That used to make people smile

And I knew if I had an agent

They would treat me like a regent

All I had to do was send a file

But then my submission made them shiver

With every query I’d deliver

Bad news slid down the mail ramp

I couldn’t lick one more stamp

It’s hard to think how hard I tried

How long I labored, laughed and sighed

But something snapped and broke my pride

The day the query died

(Chorus)

So write, write with American Style

Got a laptop with a printer

But the inkwells ran dry

And the folks in New York are reading maybe one line

Singin’ add this piece of crap to the pile

Slush this one away in the pile

Did you write that book I read?

Can you raise it from the dead?

If the agent buys your soul

Do you believe it will really sell?

Can a contract relieve this living hell?

And can you teach me how to write really well?

Well I see you’re addicted to the dream

‘Cause I saw you typing at half past three

You worked until you cried

Man, I love the way you write

I was a college senior writing songs

With an old guitar and my roommate’s bong

But I finally saw right from wrong

The day, the query died

So write, write with American Style

Got a laptop with a printer

But the inkwells ran dry

And the folks in New York are reading maybe one line

Singin’ add this piece of crap to the pile

Slush this one away in the pile

Now for ten years I’ve been writing alone

The local rag finally threw me a bone

But that’s not how I want it to be

When Adams hitchhiked in an English field

Drunk and broke, his fate seemed sealed

But his dream of fame refused to yield

And while the Old Man got lost at sea

Something wicked this way came to see

The way was paved with gold

All for Rowling alone to hold

And while agents read of a robot eye

And Gandalf caught him in the rye

We wrote stories of a sad goodbye

The day the query died

We were typing…

Write, write with American Style

Got a laptop with a printer

But the inkwells ran dry

But the folks in New York are reading maybe one line

Singin’ add this piece of crap to the pile

Slush this one away in the pile

The classics gather in a musty store cavern

The writers left for a darkened tavern

Sick and tired of playing the game

They drank and shouted that it’s all the same

Can’t get published it’s a crying shame

And the newbie, in a corner thinking fame

Now the tavern smelled of failed stale air

The patrons wondering why they were there

We all got up to leave

But we never got a reprieve

‘cause the cell phone rang a lonely tone

My agent made his intentions known

Do you recall what was atoned?

The day, the query died

And we were drinking…

Write, write with American Style

Got a laptop with a printer

But the inkwells ran dry

And the folks in New York are reading maybe one line

Singin’ add this piece of crap to the pile

Slush this one away in the pile

And there we all were in one place

Writing lame copy in cyberspace

With no will left to try again

So come on Dan be nimble Dan be quick

Dan Brown’s on the best seller list

Cause conspiracy is what we all insist

We all paid money to see his story staged

Debated the words he put on the page

Yet no editor born today

Would let me write that way

And as sales climbed high and advances soured

I threw myself upon Tolkien’s sword

I heard the agent laughing at my words

The day, the query died

The agent was singing…

Write, write with American Style

Got a laptop with a printer

But the inkwells ran dry

And the folks in New York are reading maybe one line

Singing add this piece of crap to the pile

Slush this one away in the pile

I met at girl I’d like to thank

Whose grass was green on her septic tank

But she just said she’s At Wit’s End

So I went online to the new book store

Where I heard we writers had a chance to score

But the BookSurge there, said I had to pay

And in the Twilight the young ones screamed

The authors cried they were getting creamed

Not a contract was written

The agents all were smitten

By the three words they admired most

Wizards, vamps, and the celebrity roast

So they traded the writer for a ghost

The day, the query died.

And we were tweeting…

Write, write with American Style

Got a laptop with a printer

But the inkwells ran dry

And the folks in New York are reading maybe one line

Singin’ add this piece of crap to the pile

Slush this one away in the pile