Fog seeping into the brain.
Willingly submitting to the heaviness with fingers too angry to begin.
Why at this time?
This palindrome of publishing.
Restless feet trying to prompt: “The hardest part of any journey is the first step.”
A plain bare table – in any coffee shop. Would suffice.
Has magically done so before.
Or the humiliation of smirks
Not so smart after all?
Drifting thoughts as survival skills in an adversarial environment.
Why can’t the fog engulf and obscure inside cubicle as it does on the other side of the glass?
Bent form over keyboard swaddled in shapeless hoodie as good as an invisibility cloak.
A fabric “road closed” sign to passers-by.
Especially the holly and jolly ones.
A thousand words a day. It could be done.
Next season graciously signing books destined for an over-the-top holiday presentation?
“Look. It’s signed by the author! And she illustrated it, too. What a find!”
Purchases clutched as they rush out rejoicing in their glorious luck.
(What was the author’s name again?)
So eager to toss it into another’s hands and receive gracious praise for their uncanny ability to spot emerging genius.
How would that feel?
Smooth and pure as these pencil marks swirling without guidance across the annoying pile of memos?
Paper. Did the tree’s wood scream as they crushed and pulped it?
No. Mustn’t go there.
Little voices pleading.
Disrupting productive functioning.
Like this one nagging louder and louder – more intrusive. Nagging.
Oh, one quick look in return for silence.
Harsh silence of the cubicle tomb: the ridiculing silence
Not so smartie now.
Illustrating on command.
The ergonomic chair restraining as much as leg irons.
Untold hours spent bringing image to match words – only for sudden rough shifting of gears.
“Oh, let’s try putting in some cute furry pets on that chair, hmmm?
No, better yet, make it a floral couch – in front of a quaint fireplace.
Yes, of course that means changing the curtains and rug’s design.
No problem, right?
Fine, we need that in say, the next 20 minutes.
Wait! What if the colors were a bit warmer? That would make it so cozy.
Quickly now. We’re on a tight schedule.”
Might as well be writing a coloring book.
Should have been born as a celeb’s dog. Probably would be published yesterday. With all profits going to some charitable cause – like a chauffeured limo: have to get to events to raise money for the unfortunate!
No. A cat. People like cats. An arrogant know-it-all one. Ha! Instant fame and huge writer’s advance guaranteed.
Guaranteed drain, this dark place.
So, hush screaming purple memo.
A glance and then something to give you something to really scream about: the shredder.
Oh, maybe not shrieks.
Maybe angels whispering?
With a cash prize.
Every picture tells a story.
And this audience would hear it.
All the banners, promo material, and T-shirts. Bound to be lots of those.
A step away – from here?
A chance on the stage.
Maybe this time, the right place at the right time for the right person.
One that will turn and say, “What else do you have?”
Every picture tells a story.
An island lover required – who could have a problem there?
Islands in the stream.
Islands of the mime.
No man is an island.
Obviously, island time.
Mardi Gras! Galveston is searching for a sign: an official poster contest for their 102nd celebration.
Wild and wacky.
Joy not repressed.
Joy and whimsy? The fog snickers the holiday words.
But in the distance, a sea gull calls: “Island time and beads for all!”
An enticing image there, amid the fog.
A contest as lighthouse?
(Requires a light-hearted response).
A simple click for contest information, unmask your muse, and the escape begins.
Plan now for Mardi Gras 2013. (Poster contest ends Dec 14th)
(Maybe it should have been included on the Aztec calendar? They did know how to throw a bash.)
Good luck, thou of the fast draw!
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge
Related post about publishing: “Huge hurdles. Needed: short posts?”