A selection of Max Scratchmann's funny poems about writing. Authors, poets and publishers are all put under the literary microscope and found to be wanting.
A poem about a literary festival poetry reading, accompanied by all the pseudery and navel-gazing which makes such events compelling.
Publishers are a necessary evil in the love triangle between author, book and public. They're also interfering, vacillating and infuriating, as the author in Max's funny poem discovers all too quickly.
A poem about the torment experienced a writer faced by a blank page, which both taunts and tortures him.
A jolly, jaunty poem with a rapidly diminishing cast list.
A mix of real and fantasy comic book heroes (aren't all comic book heroes fantastical, Ed.) inhabit Max's surreal poem.
Echoes of the Seven Ages of Man permeate this poem which is underflowing with the milk of human kindness.
The web has brought out the worst in people and provoked the ire of Max. Beware!
Literary nonsense on the subject of credit.
A companion piece to Hone Your Craft, Max revisits the subject of literary infertility in his poem The Blank Page.
A nonsense verse describing the toing and froing between a poet and publisher.
A poem about the rather unfortunate reception given to one of the leading characters in a classic Shakespearian play.
A poem about the quest to find literary fame and the unsatisfactory truth behind it.
A poem about the accumulated worldly possessions of a poet and the unfortunate consequences when he tries to move house.
Blogging is an art / occupation / complete waste of time that afflicts a particular literary type. More expansive than the twitterati, bloggers are still dangerously self-absorbed borderline sociopaths. I expect all failed bloggers say that!
If you know anything about poets, you'll appreciate that the poem and the idea that they might keep a veritable shopping list of resolutions is pure fantasy.
If the mental picture of the blocked writer sitting on the lavatory seeking inspiration doesn't entice you, best to turn back now.
Poets, their work and their long-suffering girlfriends form strangely distorted love triangles.
Nepotism is alive and well in the world of poetry, which makes breaking through the hallowed portals a challenge for ordinary folk.
It's a strange theatrical supsersitions that one Shakespeare play must never be mentioned by name within the walls of a theatre. It makes mounting a production tricky.
More literary frolics as an author suffers at the hands of his interfering publisher.