Anxious participants gather at the starting line.

The marathon begins with fervor.

Fingers posed, minds a flutter,

ideas spinning, twisting, swirling,

words clashing and smashing and coalescing,

mental muscles flexing, stretching,

drawing on every ounce of creative energy.

 

The minutes tick by

60, 59, 58, 57 . . .

Thoughts begin to take shape

then dissipate into the ether

30, 29, 28 , 27 . . .

Hour one drawing closer to an end

with only a disjointed collection of letters on a page.

 

15, 14, 13, 12  . . .

But there are yet 11 hours to go!

Can I entice a Muse to visit and inspire?

Who will join me in this chase to the finish line?

Calliope?

Erato?

Polyhymnia?

 

4, 3, 2, 1 . . .