My opponent never tires … never gives up. I’ve spent the last several weeks hacking at his very soul, using weapons that should have reduced him to nothing more than a few well ordered pages. Yet still he remains, fat and bloated on the excess imagination he’s devoured.
He’s fearsome to behold. His stare is the stare of 10,000 coffee saturated hours. His breath has the disgusting reek of superfluous conjugation. Adverbs slip from his every pore like maggots. They seek out new works to infest, and for every one I cut down, six more take their place! Hardened layers of exposition take the shape of cruel horns. They jute out at every angle, and I fear they are too numerous to file down. Bad dialogue has grouped to form rows of razor sharp teeth that tear at my fingers and rip away the flesh of my resolve. I’ve come to fear the sight of my opponent as one fears the shadow of his own death.
Our arena is a temple of unfulfilled dreams, half-drank glasses of wine, and dying promises. Signs of our epic struggle surround me; severed pages, dead plots, useless character sketches, and disemboweled how-to-books litter every surface. Yellow sticky notes are splashed on the walls like the blood of order-craving insects that’ve gotten squashed beneath my foe’s heavy boot. A once hardy chair now crumbles under the perpetual weight of a cruel master; the once glimmering desk is only a scuffed prop in an out of control war. How a creative heart could survive in such a despairing place is beyond reckoning.
Yet survive I must. Too many good people have succumbed to the Manuscript Beast. Some have given him their lives, a lucky few have only lost years. His reign must end! I see now that to best him I will need an arsenal of exceptional tools:
I will need The Sword of COURAGE to fight the doubts of those who say I cannot win.
I will need The Shield of STRENGTH to endure the hours, days, and weeks of battle that still lay ahead.
I will need The Spear of WISDOM to attack my opponent’s weaknesses.
Lastly, I will need The Armor of HEART to sustain me when my rational mind is turned to poison by the Beast’s relentless assault.
*** Note from the author ***
This post is dedicated (in fun) to all of you who have been fighting through edits. It sucks, but I’m convinced that we can (and will) win. Happy writing this week, and go give the Beast some hell for me!
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