When I was a kid I used to giggle over silly names of books. Then it was the highest humor. The 2 I remember are “20 Yards to the Outhouse” by Willey Makeit and “Under the Grandstands” by Seemore Butts.” I sat in the tree in our yard for days thinking up silly titles. Then I moved on to making up additional verses to silly songs like the ever popular ditty sung to the tune of On Top of Old Smokey.
On top of old spaghetti all covered with cheese
I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed.
It rolled off the table, and onto the floor
and then my poor meatball rolled out of the door.
It rolled to the garden and under a bush
and now my poor meatball was covered with mush.
Perhaps to truly understand you have to be bred of a large family. Whatever one may chose to do with their one alloted meatball was their concern. But, you don’t get another one, even if yours is now resting in the garden. I never did think of a refrain or a sequel to it. Such as – Oooh Oooh Wooh, the meatballs I have l known and Loved. Nobody makes meatballs live my Mammy. The kitchen is a lonely place without Mama’s meatballs. Maybe someday I will. Or branch out into other songs.
(sung to the tune of Long Black Veil.)
Ten Years Ago, on a cold dark night,
Someone ate the last piece of pie, ‘neath the town hall light.
The people who saw, they all agreed
That the woman who ran looked a lot like me.
So here I am loving to play with words and one measly day left before the NaNoWriMo deadline. Will I make it? The outcome is grim. Unless I am possessed by a ghost of writers past and write 30 thousand words in the next 24 hours…probably not.
I will try again next year. I will also work on this current book in the meantime. I don’t want to find myself next November in the position of slamming down 50 thousand words on top of finishing the book from this year. No I will not do this to myself!
Unless of course I want to go out in a blaze of dubious glory ala “whatever happened to old Trinity?” Someone scratches their head, “Dunno, last I saw of her she was stroking her keyboard, muttering random numbers as they hauled her away to happy farm.”