O my little Spring Onions! I read a Most Remarkable beginning, and felt I must Share it with you.

In the tiny lifeboat, she and the alien fuck endlessly, relentlessly.

My goodness.

This is, of course, Ms. Johnson’s highly Esteemed tale, Spar, a heartwarming first contact story. Why, every time I think how Ms. Johnson’s heroine and the alien overcame their Vast Differences, Over and Over and Over, I feel an odd Trembling and Excitement which I am sure are due only to the Noblest of Sentiments.

I cannot help but Admire the Skill with which Ms. Johnson sets the Scene: with only a few Deft Words, we know the Scene, the Genre, the Characters, that something has gone Horribly Awry, and the Character of their Conflict. It is Extraordinary.

Your Task

First, join me in my Admiration for this Splendid Beginning.

Second, read the Rest of the Tale.

Third, find three other equally Exquisite beginnings, and present them to us for our Mutual Edification.

Finally, apply what you Learn to your own Beginnings.

Boggins here.  That’s right, the janitor. Things have been dark around here the last few days.  Not literally.  The agents are all half-blind mole people and this directorate rivals the sun for light on most days.

No, the darkness here comes from a most unfortunate virus spreading all around these fancy hallways.  Everyone is miserable with a sickness to the stomach, and weeping rashes.  HEE HEE HEE.  From the chickens!

They always laughed at old Boggins, and his raw chicken leg breakfast, every day since I was a little rascal with new teeth in my mouth, eager to chomp on … things.  Ma always led me straight along, always looking out for Boggins.

“Boggins,” she’d say from her rocking’ chair, hands full of biscuits, or stirring up biscuit batter.  “You must always remember to have a slice of raw chicken wif yer morning biscuits.  It’ll keep the coughies away from yah.”

Ah, Ma!  You always did look out for me.

Now look at all these posh, dignified Agents, always laughing at old Boggins.  How sick they are!  Too much vomit for Boggins to clean up.  The Beastmaster, the smelliest man that ever lived, he’s away, and so I just turned the Verbhounds loose on the grounds.  No more cleaning up sick for Boggins!  Those mutts are good for something after all.

Me? I’ve got run of the place, all to myself.  HEE HEE HEE.

EXERCISE:

That’s it.  Get your exercise, people, so I don’t have to clean up after yah when you get too close to the chickens and you catch what they’ve got.  And eat your biscuits.

Lida

You lovely, lovely writers!

Your exercise for today is very simple: take the weekend off. Yes, the whole weekend! You’ve worked so hard, accomplished so much: and now it is time to rest.

Since finishing my epic poem about President Polk, I’ve become painfully aware of the need to recuperate and regenerate my creative energies. I naively thought that I could just plunge right in to my next project, but instead I found myself simply playing solitaire today! No matter what I tried, I could not bring myself to start work on my exciting new project.

Finally, I realized I’d forgotten to rest! I’d expended my forces, and needed to recharge! Of course!

So I am getting in my zeppelin in a few moments and wafting off to Majorca with, ah, a companion. While I am there, I shall lounge about shamelessly. I’ll nap. I’ll read novels simply because they amuse me. I’ll walk along the beach barefoot and splash around in the waves. I’ll take a sketchpad and draw pictures of seagulls. I’ll move my body until I remember what it’s like to live outside an epic poem, in the real world. I’ll gambol about in brilliant colors and vibrant scents and soft stars and moonlight.

What I won’t do, though, my lovelies, is write. And I won’t come back until my creative well is filled to the brim! Until I am overflowing with ideas and promises!

Gustav says I’m fleeing the country because Ethelie gets out of the Infirmary on Monday, but I swear that’s not true. I just wrote a huge epic poem and need to recharge. I need to wander amidst unfamiliar scenery and feel the salt air on my skin. I’m not afraid of Ethelie!

Well, not much. Hardly at all, really.

Really.

I shall send you kisses from Majorca! Please don’t forget to feed the Beasts while we’re gone.

Tell us in the comments: what will you do this weekend to rest, recharge, rejuvenate, reanimate, relax?

Hello again, beauties!

I hope you enjoyed your pie yesterday; I certainly did. I had a delicious slice of chocolate meringue pie, myself, and afterwards, spent almost an hour on my epic poem about President Polk. Wonderful!

As I completed the stanza about President Polk overseeing the groundbreaking for the Washington Monument (such a tragedy, that he never lived to see it thrusting mightily against the sky!), however, my thoughts strayed to the Beastmaster. Though he is himself nearly as bestial as the creatures for whom he cares, should he not also have pie? Indeed he should! So I hurried off to his quarters with a fresh berry pie.

I was warmly welcomed, and spent several enthusiastic hours in the Beastmaster’s company, and did not emerge until all the berry filling had been licked off my . . . fingers.  Then, refreshed, I continued work on my Polk poem, scribbling feverishly until dawn. It was an utterly marvelous day!  Sometimes, it seems, you must be Very Bad before you can be Very Good. Most instructive!

I’m afraid, though, that I did not spend the evening preparing my Exercises for you, as Ethelie had instructed me. Alas! So all I have for you today, my beauties, my angels, is this:

Your Mission:

1. Dare to be terrible in your writing. Misbehave dreadfully! Fling adverbs about with shameful abandon! Devour adjectives whole, and lick their delicious juices off your chin without regret! Invite in the cliches and let them drink wine straight out of the bottle! Let your sentences expose their ankles!

2. Write a paragraph of your very worst, and post it below.

3. Relish the feeling of freedom.

O my little Robins! I have a special Treat for you today!

So many Agents are Frustrated, Afraid, Struggling, Overwhelmed. You are Daunted by the Vastness of the Task before you; you Doubt your ability to do it Well; you are Busy with the Multitude of Interests and Responsibilities that make up your Life; You are Swamped by the Demands and Expectations of Others; you simply don’t Want to.

But I promise you, my Darlings: if you have the Time and the Courage and the Freedom to read these Words, you have Everything you need to create Miracles in your Writing. The task I propose for you is no more Difficult than reading this Post.

It is a Tiny task; yet undertaken Faithfully, will change Everything for you, in mere Moments.

Are you Ready, my brave little Rosebuds?

It is simply this: Write for the next Five Minutes, and then Stop.

You don’t have Time to write? It is only Five Minutes; I know you can find the time.

You have Other demands upon you? It is only Five Minutes; I know you can put off your other Responsibilities for that long. Steal Five Minutes while the Baby slumbers or the Stew stews.

You can’t Bear to be Awful? It is only Five Minutes; I know you can Survive engaging with what you see as your Flaws for that long.

You can’t see the Point? Ah, my little Cranberry, Writing is nothing more than a series of Five-Minute Miracles, one after the other. You do not need to Build the entire Road today; just lay the first Cobble-stone.

It is too Easy to be Consumed by Despair, to be Caught up in our Fears and Excuses, to forget how to Perform the Task at hand. It is too easy to believe it is Impossible.

The Five-Minute Miracle reminds you that Writing is simple, and all you Must do is Simply Write. Set aside all the Reasons you Don’t write for a moment, and Write. Once you are Finished, you may Return to your Doubts and Fears and Impossibilities.

Subsiste sermonem statim et scribe.

Report below when you have Completed today’s Mission.

O my little Pumpkins!

A common Complaint of new Agents is that they lack Ideas. “Woe!” they cry; “my Font of Inspiration is Dry, and no new Stories spring Forth.”

“Pshaw,” I tell them, Sternly, though most of them do not believe that “Pshaw” can sound Stern until I demonstrate the Technique for them. “Ideas are all Around you; you have only to Reach out your trembling Hand and grasp them.”

Begin like So:

1. Select the nearest Volume, whether of Prose or Poetry.

2. Open the Volume at Random.

The nearest Volume was Mr. Redgrove’s “Bygone Beliefs.” I flipped the Pages aimlessly, and my finger chanced upon this passage, concerning Cocks:

The cock has always been reckoned a bird possessed of magic power. At its crowing, we are told, all unquiet spirits who roam the earth depart to their dismal abodes, and the orgies of the Witches’ Sabbath terminate. A cock is the favourite sacrifice offered to evil spirits in Ceylon and elsewhere. Alectromancy was an ancient and peculiarly senseless method of divination (so called) in which a cock was employed. The bird had to be young and quite white. Its feet were cut off and crammed down its throat with a piece of parchment on which were written certain Hebrew words. The cock, after the repetition of a prayer by the operator, was placed in a circle divided into parts corresponding to the letters of the alphabet, in each of which a grain of wheat was placed. A certain psalm was recited, and then the letters were noted from which the cock picked up the grains, a fresh grain being put down for each one picked up. These letters, properly arranged, were said to give the answer to the inquiry for which divination was made. I am not sure what one was supposed to do if, as seems likely, the cock refused to act in the required manner.

My goodness. Who couldn’t think of a dozen Stories in which a Cock refuses to act in the Required Manner?

3. Now simply Write a Story, using your Random Passage as the Inspiration.

Write, my little Lemurs!

Or else.

O my little Petunias! Today’s exercise is most Delicious. All you must do is these three simple steps:

1. Consider the Fiction you have read recently. What have you most Adored? What has Inspired you? What has Delighted you? What has Challenged you?

2. Pen a Letter of Gratitude to the Author. Many Authors can be found on their Web-Sites; others may be reached via their Publishers. Tell the Author how much you Enjoyed his or her Work. If the Author you admire is no longer Living, simply send the Message via the Usual Channels.

3. In the course of your Contemplation and Letter-Writing, let yourself be Reminded of what Splendor drew you to Writing at all. Let the Fires of your Enthusiasm be Rekindled. Reread the Works that Inspired you; Regain the Mind that could so easily be Inspired.

Then, my little Pachyderms, turn your Refreshed Mind back to your own Writing, and Prosper.

O my little Harpsichords! A fresh Month is Upon us, and what better time to Consider fresh Beginnings?

Your Excercise:

Write three marvelous Beginnings. Yes, yes, some of you Performed this Exercise last Month; to you I say, one always needs Fresh Beginnings. Why, when I was in Training as a Directorate Agent, we were required to write Five fresh beginnings Each Morning before Breakfast! ‘Twas a most felicitous habit, and one which has Served me well.

Record your Beginnings in your Note-Book, or type them as Comments below for all to marvel at and applaud.

Write!

O! What a lovely lot of Introspection you have all Undertaken! As a Reward for your Bravery in Observing your Fears and Trepidations, I offer to you the Opportunity to Play.

Simply compose a Brief Scene that combines the following Elements.

• A modest glass of Absinthe
• An overturned Pew
• Three Mandarin Oranges
• A Rail-Road Engine
• A Wooden Hair-Brush, painted Black
• The skeleton of a Fish
• An old Despair
• The sound of Bells
• A Scarf, left Behind

Enjoy, my little Blackbirds! Play! Stretch your Writing Muscles freely! Frolic! Gambol, even, if you Dare.

And Write.

Yes, my little Petunias, I know I asked you to Exercise several Weeks ago. But don’t you think it is Time to get your Heart Pumping again?

This time, as you Walk, or Swim, or Dance, or whatever Bizarre form of Movement you Choose, ponder your Lists. As your Vital Fluids course through your Body, consider your Excuses. Consider your Fears. Record any Additional fears or Excuses that you Observe. Uncover festering Fears that lurk even deeper.

Consider, consider.

The Directorate has been Fortunate enough to have many Years of expert Advice on Fears and their Eradication; we have hosted a Brilliant pantheon of Experts, who have Taught us many Strategies. We shall begin Conveying some of their Wisdom to our Agents. But the first Step, my little Dumplings, is Awareness.

Walk, and Consider, and keep Writing anyway.