My first draft sits sullenly on my desk, glaring at me with repetitiousness and flatness of prose. No matter how I grasp for words, a sword remains a sword, remains a sword…since to refer to it as a blade or weapon would require stretching the vocabulary…
…ellipses rise and fall with frequency across my page…boring, jarring frequency…
My characters are Angry! Not mad, furious, enraged, excited, wrathful, indignant, exasperated, aroused, or inflamed–no–they are merely
I frequently tell them how awesome they are, because my mind is inelastic, and awesome is all I know. Truthfully, they are amazing, incredible, unbelievable, improbable, fabulous, wonderful, fantastic, astonishing, astounding, AND extraordinary. But my lamed vocabulary shall forever deem them ‘awesome.’
Inspiration has played me false. Fake, fraudulent, counterfeit, spurious, untrue, and unfounded? No! ’tis erroneous, deceptive, groundless and fallacious, this twisty beast, Inspiration.
I go quietly into the depths of the Room of Shame, that hall of horror that is my office, where I shall once again attempt to wrangle words in the desert of desperation.