The Fiction-Writing Directorate

O my little Morning Glories! March is Upon us, and all around me I see signs of the Season: the muddy Traces of the Kraken’s tentacles amid the Flower-Beds by the Reflecting Pool; the unseemly Howls of the Verb-Bitch in Season; Daffodils and Crocuses trampled by the restless Graves of the Zombie Sherpas.

It is all quite Hideous, yet even I am not immune: I feel a long-forgotten and unspeakable Stirring, and feel compelled to Act. My Goodness. That simply Will Not Do, so I shall, as always, Channel my Energies into the Fiction-Writing Directorate.

I have made such Grand Plans for March, my little Kittens! Lida has returned from her Travels and will begin speaking to you about Procrastination and her Strategies to Overcome it. Gustav and I continue our Investigations into the Evil that stalks the Halls of the Directorate. Of course, I will continue to offer Exercises each Week-Day. It will be a splendid, splendid month!

Your Mission

How will you channel the Torrid energies of the Season into your Writing? What will you achieve this week? This month? Dig deep in the Muddy Soil of your Writing, and let glorious Flowers of Words bloom forth!

Oh, Dear. I fear I shall not be able to Restrain my unseemly Impulses, after all. Such Metaphors can lead to no good. I fear I may write a Novel, of the most Common Pot-Boiler type. No! I will not!

I trust, my faithful Agents, that you will be Stronger than I.

And I trust that you will Write, for there are worse things than Writer’s Block. March has Shadows amidst the Blooms. Simply Write.

O my brave little Butterflies!

A whole Month has passed since my first Post, since my tiny Boat set Sail on the Uncharted Waters of the Vast Sea of the Intarwebs. It has been a Delightful voyage thus far, my stay in the Infirmary notwithstanding.

It has also been a Productive time, though we were not Able to Forge as many splending Postings as we’d hoped. February is a Ghastly month, is it not? Perhaps March will be more Felicitous.

How have you done, my little Badgers? What have you Written this Week? What have you Written this Month? Take Stock! And then Write some More.

Please let us Know how your Directorate can more Ably serve you.

O my little Cherry Blossoms! The Directorate’s Surgeons have Infused me with a Serum that has caused my Bones to Knit together, and my horrid Convalescence reaches its end. Rejoice!

My period of Restful Recovery has given me much-needed Time, with which I have endeavored to bring myself Current on the Directorate’s Mail. Much of it, you will not be Surprised to learn, is young Agents such as Yourself, tendering their Excuses for not writing, in Hopes that they may avoid their Fate. O, the foolish little Ducklings!

For I have heard these Excuses before, in all their Infinite and Sordid variation, and know them for the Clap-Trap that they Are.

I do not have time! you cry. Poppycock! You have Time to read this Web-Site, do you not? You have Time to Complain on the Inter-Webs about your lack of Time, do you not? You have Time for your Hobbies, like Fox-Hunting and Needle-Point and Square-Dancing, do you not? You have the Time, my Dumpling.

I do not have Inspiration! you cry. Balderdash. Your Inspiration knows no Limits when it comes to Inventing Excuses, does it? You find the Inspiration to Argue with People who are Wrong on the Inter-Webs, do you not? You have boundless Inspiration to Complain about Slights against you, do you not?

Furthermore, my little Pea-Hen, it is a Universal Truth that Inspiration comes to those who are Poised to Use it. It visits those who sit in front of their Type-Writing Machines faithfully, not those who sit in front of their Tele-Vision Sets faithfully.

I do not have the Skill, you cry. Indeed, few Writers do; few Writers believe their Skill matches their Vision. Yet you gain the Skill through Practice! Of all the Ridiculous Excuses, this is perhaps the Most Ridiculous. Imagine a Runner who says, I shall not Run until I am Fast! Imagine a Weight-Lifter who says, I shall not lift Weights until I am Strong! Imagine an Alchemist who says, I shall not create the Sanctum Moleculae until I have created the Sacrum Particulae! Ha!

O, my little Hot Crossed Buns, I could go on and on, but I Trust you see the Absurdity of these and other Excuses. For not only are they Insufficient on their own — but they do not Address the Harm of not Writing! What matters your Lack of Time in light of the Creeping death of the Soul that is not writing? What matters your Lack of Inspiration in the Baleful flourescent Light of the Word Urchins? What matters your Lack of Skill if the Verb-Hounds feast upon your Bones?

It matters not, my Darlings; it matters not. Simply write.

What is your Mission this week? What will you Achieve?

O Loyal Agents,

Today I write to you of Procrastination, the Scourge of Writers and other Noble Folks. I shall tell you a True Story to illustrate my Meaning. Attend!

Recently, one of your fellow Agents (Code-named Rocket) received a fine Gift: a Healing and Invigorating Elixir made from the finest Natural Ingredients: Coffee, Honey, and Onion Juice. Inexplicably, Agent Rocket did not enjoy this fine Gift, and set it aside, intending to Cast it Away from her.

Point the First:

Agent Rocket is no fit judge of what is Good. Similarly, many Writers (yea, even Directorate Agents!) are no fit judges of the Merits of their work, and wish to Cast Away extraordinary Words. Writers who fear that their Work is not Excellent are perhaps most prone to Procrastination. By this Example I trust you can see the Foolishness of that Belief. Assume that your Work is Excellent, and proceed.

The Tale Grows Sadder

Agent Rocket was not as Wise as you, and Procrastinated! While she was Frittering away her Time on less worthy matters, the bottle of Elixir sat in a Warm and Comfortable Place, ignored. At length, months later, Agent Rocket girded her Loins, and removed the Stopper from the bottle, and poured the delicious Elixir down the Drain.

O that poor Drain! For Agent Rocket quickly Realized that while she had been Procrastinating, the Tonic had not been Idle. The Warmth and Comfort of its Resting Place allowed the elixer to fester and ferment and grow unspeakable Tentacled Masses within its Cloudy Depths. It had transformed from a Healing Tonic into a lumpy, foul-smelling Deadly Toxin, and I fear the contents of Agent Rocket’s stomach joined the Tonic in the drain, as she was overcome by its Essential Nastiness. Weak and gasping, she lurched away from her Kitchen, shaken and trembling, and vowed to Mend her Ways.

Point the Second:

If you fall prey to Procrastination, that which you have been avoiding becomes Unspeakably Horrible.

These two Points combine into a single Inescapable Truth: Excellent Words (as I assure you yours are), when left Unwritten, fester and become Foul. The only Reasonable Choice is to write the Words down, without Hesitation.

I trust you will make the Reasonable Choice.

Choose your Mission

Now, my little Starlings, it is time for you to Choose your Mission for this Week. What will you Achieve? What Accomplishments will you Claim?

If you Struggle to select a Mission, I charge you thus: write 500 words each Day, on the Piece of your Choice.