There once was a writer from Sandusky /
Who was tall and a little bit husky. /
He wrote every day. /
He was a poet they say. /
And his clothes wore a wee bit crusty.
There once was a writer from Sandusky /
Who was tall and a little bit husky. /
He wrote every day. /
He was a poet they say. /
And his clothes wore a wee bit crusty.
Once a science fiction writer moved to Saskatchewan. /
He heard that’s where all the aliens had gone. /
They’d landed there /
For the Canadian healthcare /
And belief that they could belong.
Two writers went to the same doctor’s office on the same day. She told each one he didn’t have long to live.
“It’s awful,” said the first writer. “I’m right in the middle of a novel and she’s only given me six months to live. I’ll never get it finished. What about you?”
“It’s awful for me, too,” said the second writer. “She gave me three years to live.”
“Three years!” the first writer said. “Three years! What’s so awful about that?”
“I write short stories,” the second writer said. “And I’m fresh out of ideas.”
Filed under 2020, joke by author, Monday morning writing joke
There once was a writer from Dubuque.
He thought his success was a fluke.
Still, the notoriety, it’s said
Inflated his head
And his wife caught him with a girl half as cute.
There once was a writer at night
Who wrote all the way to daylight.
His stories were grand
About a sun-drenched land
But his descriptions were never quite right.
There once was a writer from Sandusky
An outdoor fellow and husky.
He wrote about the birds and the bees
And even humans on their knees
But he himself was never lucky.
Filed under 2020, Monday morning writing joke, Poetry by David E. Booker
There once was a writer of Romance /
Who had a stance on love at first glance. /
It was hard for him to believe /
Or even try to conceive /
That it could be done while still wearing your pants.
There once was a writer in the Kremlin
Whose words were always dissembling.
No matter what he’d say
The writer would explain it away –
Even when Trump was Putin dwelling.
There once was a writer of Romance /
Who had a stance on love at first glance. /
It was hard for him to believe /
Or even try to conceive /
That it could be done while still wearing your pants.
Filed under 2019, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
Illustration by Jason Adam Katzenstein

If you use a red pen, you are either grading undergraduate papers or you are a sociopath.
Source: How to Choose a Writing Instrument and What It Says About You | The New Yorker
Cormac McCarthy purchased a powder blue Olivetti Lettera 32 mechanical typewriter in a Tennessee pawnshop, in 1963, for fifty dollars, and used it for the next five decades, producing an estimated five million words tickling its ivories. An author’s instrument is more than a tool; it is an extension of his very soul. With that in mind, choose your weapon carefully. (I use the Olivetti Lettera 22—an earlier model—myself.)
Ballpoint pen: Let me guess—you probably have a great idea for a book that you’ve been meaning to write but haven’t actually got around to starting?
Fountain pen: You don’t use contractions because you think that they degrade the language, and your epigraphs are all in Latin. You include epigraphs in everything you write.
Electric typewriter: All of your protagonists are thinly veiled versions of yourself. You order rye at bars and secretly think that you should have been alive in the sixties.
Manual typewriter: You spent six hundred dollars on a typewriter that you’ve used twice.
No. 2 pencil: You keep one behind your ear because you think it looks writerly, but exclusively use it to jot down to-do lists.
Pencil you can only sharpen with a pocket knife: You have gone camping two or three times in your life and bring it up at least once per conversation.
Mechanical pencil: You’re taking notes in an Algebra 2 class.
MacBook: You like the idea of hiking more than you actually like hiking and are impressed with yourself for liking the Beatles.
Desktop computer: You are either a Serious Writer who needs to be cut off from distraction in order to focus completely on your art, or you are sixty-five years old.
Red pen: You are either grading undergraduate papers or you are a sociopath.
Micron: Your notebook is the type with the grid dots because you think that lines constrain your creativity but you still need to write straight.
Quill: You have gone to a Renaissance Faire unironically. Please, for all of our sakes, stop calling women “m’lady.”
Tablet: You type with a single finger.
From “The White Man’s Guide to White Male Writers of the Western Canon,” by Dana Schwartz, illustrated by Jason Adam Katzenstein, to be published by Harper Collins.
Filed under 2019, Monday morning writing joke