Ode to NaNoWriMo (a cheesy parody of Shakespeare)

To write, or not to write, that is the question:

Whether tis nobler to scribble

Fifty-thousand words that mean nothing,

Or to fill a single page with meaning. To write, to live --

And by living, gain inspiration

That may fill the pages with life;

'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To write, to live --

To live, perchance to inspire -- ay, there's the rub,

For in that living of life what inspiration may come,

When we listen to our hearts,

And the meaning within; there's the respect

That motivates us to completion:

For who would possess the patience required,

Bear th' oppressor's pen, the proud man's completed work,

The delays of writer's block, procrastination's spell,

The fear of distraction, and the pressures

That his teachers impose upon him,

For he himself to complete his novel

In just thirty days; who would many burdens bear,

To inspire and be inspired by life,

But the dread of incompletion,

The permanent distraction, from which

No writer returns, perplexes the mind,

And makes us wish we had persevered,

Rather than live with the product of our procrastination?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

As it hands out regrets

To those who succumbed to procrastination's gentle call,

But only those who ignore the call of procrastination,

Keeping instead their eyes on the prize,

Find success in completion.