Someday, darlings, I may be able to tell you about the extraordinary adventures that have been forced upon the Directorate these past months; for now, however, I must keep my trembling silence. I may tell you only that my adoration for you continues unabated, and I eagerly anticipate the day when we have dealt with the horrors which confront us so that I may return to you.

I offer these two fabulous things to keep you inspired and informed until that marvelous day.

First, the luminous Elissa Bassist at the Rumpus offers . . . → Read More: Two Fabulous Things]]>

Darlings! O, how I have missed you in these long lonely days!

Someday, darlings, I may be able to tell you about the extraordinary adventures that have been forced upon the Directorate these past months; for now, however, I must keep my trembling silence. I may tell you only that my adoration for you continues unabated, and I eagerly anticipate the day when we have dealt with the horrors which confront us so that I may return to you.

I offer these two fabulous things to keep you inspired and informed until that marvelous day.

First, the luminous Elissa Bassist at the Rumpus offers bountiful wisdom. Darlings! Go read Unsolicited Writing Advice You Want.

- Write every day. If you can’t do that, do this: set an egg timer for 20 minutes; get a pencil and paper and have them touch; don’t lift your pen or pencil off the paper; write “I cannot write every day” on the piece of paper until you have something else to say; do this every day.

- A conversation between two writers: Writer 1 says, “Blah blah blah,” and Writer 2 says, “Shut up and write.”

Second, may I call your attention to the doings of the Directorate’s beloved Dance of Shiva teacher, Ms. Wodzinski? She’s started her own delicious site, including a fabulous club for Dance of Shiva students. Fear not; Ms. Wodzinski will continue her work at the Directorate! We wish her the most extraordinary success in her new project.

Until the fates bring us together again, darlings! Kisses!

Darlings! Welcome to another delicious Friday! Let us all work together to clear our decks, shall we?

Earlier today, I sprang refreshed from the nourishing arms of slumber, eager to savour the day. After breaking my fast and performing my ablutions, I dove into the very first task on my list: a somewhat overdue assessment of an Agent’s performance with his writing goals.

It’s an important task, darling! Yet somehow, without me even noticting, over an hour slipped away into diversionary shenanigans of the most pointless kind. Oh, dear, I muttered, as I turned away from the internet. Oh dear, . . . → Read More: Clear the Decks Friday: Flow Around]]>

A Shameful Harlot

Darlings! Welcome to another delicious Friday! Let us all work together to clear our decks, shall we?

Earlier today, I sprang refreshed from the nourishing arms of slumber, eager to savour the day. After breaking my fast and performing my ablutions, I dove into the very first task on my list: a somewhat overdue assessment of an Agent’s performance with his writing goals.

It’s an important task, darling! Yet somehow, without me even noticting, over an hour slipped away into diversionary shenanigans of the most pointless kind. Oh, dear, I muttered, as I turned away from the internet. Oh dear, oh dear! I was supposed to be working! I’d set out full of enthusiasm, only to find myself adrift.

What had happened? How could my eagerness have been dissipated so easily?

I realized: I did not want to write the assessment. They are dreadful bureaucratic documents that only Ethelie could like; I can think of dozens — nay, hundreds! — of more felicitous uses of my time! Indeed, it makes perfect sense that I should wish to avoid it!

Yet why did I not simply set aside the loathsome task, and choose another? My list contained several wonderful items, including shopping for a present for one of my companions, posing for some salacious photographs, and obtaining a foot massage! The report isn’t even due until Monday. O Foolish Mind! It became so set upon completing the task I set it that it excluded all other tasks; so its only option, when it foundered on the shoals of avoidance, was to divert me into diversionary shenanigans.

Surely there is a better approach. Thus I set myself my theme for the day:

Instead, Flow Around.

When blocked, simply set the task aside, and select another.

I believe this approach requires three attributes if it is to succeed:

First, we must be vigilant, my loves. I am so accustomed to my avoidance that often, as happened this morning, I do not even notice when I have gone astray. Thus my first step is to simply pay attention.

Next, we must be kind, darlings. When you find yourself adrift, do not shout; simply gently reel your mind back in. You have avoided the task for a perfectly good reason; instead of stern recriminations, greet yourself with comfort. If you fall short, the Directorate will be ready with recriminations; you may safely leave the work of chastizement to us, and focus on being kind to yourself.

Finally, we must trust ourselves, beauties. Trust yourself to come back to the task you have set aside; trust your mind to quietly work to resolve its difficulties; trust that you can wisely choose the next task to which you apply yourself. Trust yourself to grow, to strengthen your skills, and to flourish. I fear this is the work of a lifetime — yet should we not begin it?

Join Me?

Talk to me in the comments, my scrumptious friends! What tasks are you avoiding? How can you best flow around them?

Dearest Lida,

I was delighted to receive your correspondence, but surely you jest—vampires? But have you not just vanquished the zombies? This is terrible news indeed.

I won’t mince words, my dear. I’ve encountered the vampires. I am nearly ashamed to admit I have been seduced myself.

Does that shock you, Lida? I apologize. My wanderings in the wilderness often cause me to forget the gentility of polite company. But . . . → Read More: The Scent of Desperation]]>

A recent incident compelled me to write to my dear friend Stacey Cornelius for advice. I found her response so marvelously useful that I knew I must share it with you all immediately! Take heed!–Lida.

Dearest Lida,

I was delighted to receive your correspondence, but surely you jest—vampires? But have you not just vanquished the zombies? This is terrible news indeed.

I won’t mince words, my dear. I’ve encountered the vampires. I am nearly ashamed to admit I have been seduced myself.

Does that shock you, Lida? I apologize. My wanderings in the wilderness often cause me to forget the gentility of polite company. But yes, it is true: like the sweet young thing who falls prey to wistful dreams of adoring suitors and who longs for fame and riches, my eyes—and my mind—were deceived.

But you don’t need to hear the sordid details; you have more pressing matters to attend to.

I will tell you instead about the unmasking of these creatures and the manner in which to escape their clutches.

First, however, I must warn you: the monsters you speak of are highly specialized.

Vampires are attracted by the scent of desperation.

No, my love, it is neither the wayward they seek, nor the innocent. It is the disease of doubt that comes from the darkest depths of the soul that draws them.

Have you already perceived the awful truth, Lida? Yes, dear heart—the scourge is self-inflicted. We summon them, like the rose calls to a wasp. In the end, we are left alone, lost, more empty than ever, our lifeblood drained and aspirations dashed.

You must therefore recognize the villain when he presents himself. He comes with pretty words, the sweetest of reassurances, to soothe your most secret insecurities. He pretends to know your dearest dreams. He plays the most lovely music to your ears.

And you may know what happens then—you become lost. Not in the lush forest of creative rumination, but in a strange place where your thoughts are not entirely your own. You become obsessed with pleasing this magical creature. You hang on his words, gather tomes filled with false promises, pressing them to your forehead in the long, lonely night, praying for epiphanies.

You despair, believing your quality will never be sufficient. Why, oh why, can you not become the glorious creature he promised you will be?

When you reach this moment of despair, when all your faith is spent, then it is time to unmask him.

But how, you ask?

It is simple:

You must listen.

You will discover the smallest dissonance in his song, a strange reverberation that can only be felt in the bones. That sound is easily lost in the sea of confusion, and yet it is only when you listen deeply that you know: he is false.

And when you finally see the beast for what he truly is, you must turn away.

Oh, I know, the prospect is frightening. Turn away from one so dangerous? It seems preposterous. Yet it is necessary, because he is, in truth, a mirror, the very image of your fear, the reflection of your unacknowledged distrust of your truest self.

Your revelation robs him of his terrible power. When you pull away, the sound of his treacherous tongue begins to fade. You will then experience two strange things: regret, but also the beginnings of quietness.

You must nurture this new sensation. It will serve you well, because you will encounter more vampires. Some of them will be weak, some very strong indeed.

Remember, my dear: you do not need silly trappings. Your finest adornment is your own true voice. If you encounter doubt, simply ask, “What is this, truly? Will I wear it comfortably, or does it chafe as a poorly constructed garment?”

What is true will fit like the finest glove. What is not—you will know. Now that you are wise in the ways of the vampire, you will know.

And you will defeat him, dearest Lida. I know you are fearless when the need is great. You will not fail.

Please give my best regards to Ethelie, Gustav and dear Boggins. I do not know who this Beth person is, but if you tell me she is of fine quality, then I believe you. I should also tell you I have indeed done extensive research, and it seems I am of no relation to Miss Callista. I confess I am somewhat disappointed, since she is both brave and lovely, but I am content to share a name with this mysterious lady.

Until we meet again, my dear, I remain, faithfully yours.

- – - – - -

Stacey Cornelius writes about textbook-free marketing for creatives, and mindset that makes it great at thestudiosource.com, where she generally takes a somewhat less fanciful tone. You can also find her on Twitter @thestudiosource.

O my little Apple Blossoms! Tomorrow, the Staff of the Directorate departs for its annual Corporate Retreat; thus, we must Clear our Decks a day Early.

An imminent Vacation has a marvelously Focussing effect on one’s Mind, don’t you think? When one is faced with an Immovable Deadline, the essential tasks stand out with Marked Clarity, and all other Concerns fade into a Murky and Undistinguished background.

Already today I Labored with Mr. Boggins on revealing the new Directorate Emporium! Now you can purchase splendid Directorate goods, and constantly be Reminded of your Obligations by virtue of Gustav observing you from a . . . → Read More: Clear the Decks Thursday: Vacation Edition]]>

Ethelie

O my little Apple Blossoms! Tomorrow, the Staff of the Directorate departs for its annual Corporate Retreat; thus, we must Clear our Decks a day Early.

An imminent Vacation has a marvelously Focussing effect on one’s Mind, don’t you think? When one is faced with an Immovable Deadline, the essential tasks stand out with Marked Clarity, and all other Concerns fade into a Murky and Undistinguished background.

Already today I Labored with Mr. Boggins on revealing the new Directorate Emporium! Now you can purchase splendid Directorate goods, and constantly be Reminded of your Obligations by virtue of Gustav observing you from a Mug. Indeed, these are no Ordinary Mugs, but have the full Force and Power of the Directorate embedded in their Ceramic. Weaker Agents should not Purchase this Mug, lest they be Overpowered. But if you believe in your Strength and Committment, please Peruse the Wares.

Yet more Tasks await! I must ensure that Gustav has not smuggled Absinthe in his Luggage, so that we may Avoid repeating last year’s Debacle; I must lecture Lida on Propriety, and create a set of Flash Cards for her Reference in moments of Temptation. I must verify our Motivational Speaker’s travel arrangements; and I must attend to a Dozen–nay, a Hundred!–nay, a Thousand!–other details, before Clambering wearily into Lida’s Zeppelin, which will Convey us to our Undisclosed Location.

I fear I shall Sorely need your Companionship, when my Resolve grows Weary. Won’t you Join me in Clearing the Decks today?

Here’s the thing about the Dance of Shiva: it can be as much fun as you want it . . . → Read More: Shiva Nata for Swingers]]>

This is a short video of me doing Level 1 Horizontals this afternoon.

Here’s the thing about the Dance of Shiva: it can be as much fun as you want it to be.

Today, my lovelies, I am thinking about systems.

Ethelie is terribly fond of lists and priorities and stern consequences. Her lists — o, my darling, they are magnificent and mighty machines, with thousands of interlocking gears, each grinding inexorably along. Frankly, they terrify me, and when I have tried to use Ethelie’s systems, I’ve found myself weeping in the arms of my evening’s companion, instead of frolicking. There was simply no way to live up . . . → Read More: Clear the Decks Friday: Mr. Forster’s SuperFocus]]>

Darlings! Welcome to the sixth edition of Clear the Decks Friday, in which we work together to dispose of the bothersome tasks that otherwise encumber our writing life!

Today, my lovelies, I am thinking about systems.

Ethelie is terribly fond of lists and priorities and stern consequences. Her lists — o, my darling, they are magnificent and mighty machines, with thousands of interlocking gears, each grinding inexorably along. Frankly, they terrify me, and when I have tried to use Ethelie’s systems, I’ve found myself weeping in the arms of my evening’s companion, instead of frolicking. There was simply no way to live up to the dreadful expectations of that beastly machine.

Gustav, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. Why, he works entirely at random. Oh, he can call it synchronicity all he wants, but for me it feels like sheer chaos. While the uncertainty lends a certain vigour and briskness to the day, I find it altogether too, too unsettling.

Clearly, my darlings, one’s ideal approach to achieving all the goalsets is as unique as the individual! We are all precious, precious snowflakes!

Thus I was delighted to learn of Mr. Forster’s SuperFocus system, which offers a delightful blend of flexibility and structure. It seems ideal for a capricious creature such as myself.

Your turn!

Tell me, darlings, what system do you use?

And what will you be clearing from your decks today? Tell us below.

Darlings! What a dreary and wretched day today is!

Everything is horrid: the Hounds will not stop howling. The weather is utterly frigid and the Beastmaster feared that the Kraken’s pond might freeze solid, so now the Kraken is lurking sullenly in the largest bathing tub in the Directorate. I have not performed my ablutions for days, darlings, and fear I am quite sticky and feral. My most promising writer had a dreadful relapse and has not written a word for days; he has been turned over to the tender ministries of the Plot Spiders, and all my marvelous . . . → Read More: Clear the Decks Friday: What Went Right?]]>

A Shameful Harlot

Darlings! What a dreary and wretched day today is!

Everything is horrid: the Hounds will not stop howling. The weather is utterly frigid and the Beastmaster feared that the Kraken’s pond might freeze solid, so now the Kraken is lurking sullenly in the largest bathing tub in the Directorate. I have not performed my ablutions for days, darlings, and fear I am quite sticky and feral. My most promising writer had a dreadful relapse and has not written a word for days; he has been turned over to the tender ministries of the Plot Spiders, and all my marvelous plans for encouraging him are for naught.

All is despair, my darlings, all is lost, all is gray. Only the tantalizing thought of talking to you lured me out of my bed so early in the afternoon.

Let us turn this bastardly day around, shall we? If all is horrid, let us focus on the opposite, and find all the things that have gone right today. Our minds observe the atrocious without difficulty, and thus convince ourselves that all is foul. How much harder — yet more felicitous — would it be to simply spot the successes? I do not suggest that we ignore the horrors of the day — there is no practical way to ignore a Kraken in one’s bathtub. The things that have gone horrid will certainly present themselves without our effort. However, things that have gone right prove more elusive; and it is up to us to search them out. If we can find enough of them, perhaps we can avoid tumbling into the magotty abyss of despair.

I shall start! I shall find even the tiniest of victories, and celebrate them. Celebrate with me, my loves!

Lida’s Lovely List

1. I found a way to avoid wrecking the ship of the day on the rocky shoals of despair. Hooray!

2. The Plot Spider, well-fed, will not wander the halls of the Directorate tonight in search of other prey; she will be quite sated.

3. As am I.

4. I had a marvelous sandwich for lunch today; Gustav baked fresh bread.

5.  I have finished this blog post; now Ethelie will not frown at me quite so sternly.

Your Turn

What can you find that has gone right today? Tell us and celebrate; and return to announce subsequent successes. Darlings, you will be positively radiant.

O my little Mangolias! Welcome to another Edition of Clear the Decks Friday, in which we complete our most Troublesome Tasks together. For Clearing ones Decks has a Salubrious and Invigorating affect; and many Agents find themselves Turning to their Writing with renewed Vigour.

Today I wish to expound on the numberless Benefits of a time-Honored productivity Tool: the humble Timer. The Fiction-Writing Directorate employs Timers in a variety of Manners. My Favorite is to place the Recalcitrant Writer on a platform suspended over a Pit of Ravenous Wolverines, and set a Timer. If the Writer completes his or . . . → Read More: Clear the Decks Friday: on Timers]]>

Ethelie

O my little Mangolias! Welcome to another Edition of Clear the Decks Friday, in which we complete our most Troublesome Tasks together. For Clearing ones Decks has a Salubrious and Invigorating affect; and many Agents find themselves Turning to their Writing with renewed Vigour.

Let us Begin!

Today I wish to expound on the numberless Benefits of a time-Honored productivity Tool: the humble Timer. The Fiction-Writing Directorate employs Timers in a variety of Manners. My Favorite is to place the Recalcitrant Writer on a platform suspended over a Pit of Ravenous Wolverines, and set a Timer. If the Writer completes his or her Designated Task before the Timer sounds, and with perfect Focus, then all is Well.

But if the timer’s Dulcet Tones ring out first, or I see that the Writer’s Mind has Wandered far afield, I pull a Lever which tips the Platform, and the Writer plummets into the bloody Pit, and his Screams ring out above the vicious Snarls of the Wolverines as they feed.

Thus we see the Timer has a marvelously Focusing effect on the Mind of the Writer.

Timers for Home Use

I do not expect that our Readers are equipped with their own Wolverine-Pits (and most home Wolverine-Pits are simply not large enough for this Purpose). Fear not, my little Douglas Firs! Even without a Pit, Platform, and Lever of Doom, you can achieve an implacable Focus simply by using a Timer.

First, select your Timer. You may use a simple Kitchen Timer, your Alarm Clock, download a Timer to your Computer, find a Plug-In for your Browser, use a Timer on the Inter-Webs, or any of a Thousand possibilities. Delicate Flowers and Mystics may like the Zen Timer on their iPhone; Sturdier types may prefer an Obnoxiously Loud alarm. It does not matter in the Least which Timer you use; all that Matters is that you Select one.

Perhaps I shall ask Webmaster Boggins to build a Special timer for the Directorate. Perhaps, my little Cauli-Flowers.

Select your Task

Once you have chosen your Timer, select your Task. I beseech you, Writer, do not become Lost among your Tasks, the maze of your Endless Lists, your careful Color-Coding and Prioritization Scheme. Simply pick a Task. Select one Randomly if you must.

Set your Timer and Begin

It is time to Set yourself upon a Platform suspended above a Wolverine-Pit — using only the powers of your Mind! My little Cabbage-Rose, you are a Writer, so I trust you will have no significant Difficulty imagining the Scenario. Imagine the Snarls of the Wolverines; smell the Stench of their Anal Sacs; see its sturdy Limbs and fierce Teeth. Feel the Precarious Balance of your Platform.

Imagine the Platform tipping because your mind Wandered or you did not Complete your task. O, what a horrid Fate!

Magnificently Focusing, isn’t it?

Now set your Timer, and Begin. Think of Nothing but your Task until the Timer chimes; let all other Concerns fade away.

Report!

What is your Task? How long will you set your Timer? Tell us, and then Begin! Later, report: did you Succeed? Or were the Wolverines sated with your Flesh?

I feel I should apologize for not getting this post up sooner so that all you early-birds might benefit from it; but I’m afraid I was busy with some terribly important sleeping-in. Scrumptious! But alas, the delightful parts of my day have finished, and I have no choice but to turn my attention to my dreary List of Loathsome Labours.

Of course they’re loathsome; I’ve been putting them off all week, and for very good reason. All are difficult or dull or dastardly or annoyingly alliterative; the very thought of them causes me to turn . . . → Read More: Clear the Decks Friday: Less Loathsome Lists]]>

Darlings! Is it Friday again? How delicious.

I feel I should apologize for not getting this post up sooner so that all you early-birds might benefit from it; but I’m afraid I was busy with some terribly important sleeping-in. Scrumptious! But alas, the delightful parts of my day have finished, and I have no choice but to turn my attention to my dreary List of Loathsome Labours.

Of course they’re loathsome; I’ve been putting them off all week, and for very good reason. All are difficult or dull or dastardly or annoyingly alliterative; the very thought of them causes me to turn my mind from the Loathsome List and seek diversions. Why, I haven’t visited my taxidermist, or his charming wife, in over a fortnight!

But no. Such pleasures must be deferred until my Labours have been completed, lest I suffer Ethelie’s direst consequences.

My Favorite Remedy

Make the list itself less loathsome, darlings! How much more felicitous is it to be guided by a graceful graphic than to be shouted at by a stern and uncompromisingly grim List?

It seems to be a bit of foolishness, I know–how could a simple thing like the appearance of your list affect you?

Darling, how could it not? Do you not judge people and things by their appearance? Do you not find one young maiden alluring and enticing because of the graceful curve of her cheek and the way her gown hugs her bodice, yet find another maiden repulsive because of her slatternly attire and coarse hair? At the greengrocers, do you not choose one apple rather than another because of its firm flesh and glossy sheen?

Of course you do, darlings, of course you do. So why not give your list a less loathsome appearance? A simple make-over may be all your list needs to be transformed from loathsome to alluring.

• Perhaps writing your tasks with a fountain pen on lovely paper would do the trick;
• or perhaps scribbling each on a brightly-colored square of paper, arranged beautifully on the wall before you, would work.
• Fold an origami swan, and write a task upon each plane.
• Draw an octopus (what clever beasts!) and write a task upon each leg.

Let your imagination run loose, my lovelies! What can you do with brilliant markers, soft yarns, rich papers, flowing inks, and body chocolate? Mmm, I know just the thing.

I am sure you can create an amazing list. Tell me about it below? What’s on your list today — and how will you make it lovely?

[When the Fiction-Writing Directorate stepped out from years of shadowy silence to embrace the brave new world of the internet and its values of authenticity and transparency, I set myself the task of telling the tragic and illuminating tale of Miss Callista Cornelius. Before I told much of the tale, however, I was viciously attacked by an unknown assailant. To my shame, I let my cowardice get the better of me, and fell silent.

Miss Cornelius, however, deserves better; and thus I shall resume her tale.

You may wish to re-read the first installment of this series. . . . → Read More: Miss Cornelius Meets the Director]]>

The Lovely and Brave Miss Cornelius

[When the Fiction-Writing Directorate stepped out from years of shadowy silence to embrace the brave new world of the internet and its values of authenticity and transparency, I set myself the task of telling the tragic and illuminating tale of Miss Callista Cornelius. Before I told much of the tale, however, I was viciously attacked by an unknown assailant. To my shame, I let my cowardice get the better of me, and fell silent.

Miss Cornelius, however, deserves better; and thus I shall resume her tale.

You may wish to re-read the first installment of this series. The investigations of Miss Cornelius, a persistent and inquisitive reportress, brought her too close to the truth of the Directorate (at that time, still shrouded in mystery). The Director sought to avert her attention by hiring her to write a terribly dull public relations piece: if he convinced her we were boring enough, surely she would turn her attentions away from our hallowed halls.

I proudly present Miss Cornelius’s notes. – G.T.]

November 16.

This dismal fortress looks no less dreary in the dawn light. If anything, the stone walls look even bleaker without the flickering candle-light to soften them. The air is cold and damp and smells faintly of old bacon. I do not know how I will be able to present this dismal pit in a positive light to complete my commission!! But I reminded myself of the critical investigations this work would fund: the sordid relationship between the insane asylum and the adjacent meat-packing plant, for example. I know what’s going on there; I just need to support myself while I find the truth!

I figured a brisk walk around the grounds before breakfast would remove the gloomy cobwebs from my mind, so I pulled on my jacket and headed down the stairs. But I was intercepted by Ethel Lee, who was just as stern and humorless in the dawn light as she had been last night. She shepherded me into the dining room for a grim breakfast (soggy waffle, cold tea, sullen companions!) and then directly to the Library for my interview with the Director.

I Meet the Director

The Director

Ethel Lee positively simpered at the Director when she introduced me. I have never seen such an extraordinary transformation in my life! Who would have thought that such a stern woman would giggle and blush like a schoolgirl when he thanked her for her services?

He is a striking man, to be sure, and has an undeniable presence. He has the most astonishing beard – I would not be surprised to find a whole nest of mice living in it! – and piercing eyes that miss nothing. The library itself was a dim and oppressive room, with shelf upon shelf of daughty and impenetrable tomes. An ugly portrait of an elderly gentleman hung on the wall; it was of the unsettling sort whose eyes seemed to follow one about the room. I shuddered and strove to ignore it.

He welcomed me warmly and thanked me for taking his commission. “Why,” he said, “the Directorate has labored for many years in the service of little-known authors. We yearn to bring their work to broader acclaim – and your pamphlet can only help us with our great work. Would you like me to read to you from one of our most beloved poets?”

I had no choice but to say yes. The Director opened the enormous book that lay before him on the great table, and began to read.

“This is called ‘The All Night Sea Fight,’ and was penned by the great McGonegal.” He cleared his throat.

Ye sons of Mars, come list to me,
And I will relate to ye
A great and heroic naval fight,
Which will fill your hearts with delight.

The fight was between the French Frigate “Pique” and the British Frigate “Blanche,”
But the British crew were bold and staunch;
And the battle was fought in West Indian waters in the year of 1795,
And for to gain the victory the French did nobly strive.

Oh, God! I thought back to the shrieks I thought I heard echoing through the night; perhaps some poor wretch had been forced to listen to more of this verse.

Surely this was a joke. I peered at the Director’s face, eager for any sign of levity or humor, but saw only an unholy enthusiasm.

It was about midnight when the Frenchman hove in sight,
And could be seen distinctly in the starlight;
And for an hour and a half they fired away
Broadsides into each other without dismay.

And with the rapid flashes the Heavens were aflame,
As each volley from the roaring cannons came;
And the incessant roll of musketry was awful to hear,
As it broke over the silent sea and smote upon the ear.

Oh, God. It continued, unceasingly, the Director’s voice rolling on like a flood, unstoppable and horrid. Think of the asylum, I reminded myself, but feared that if I listened to much more of this, I would be joining the ranks of the mad in their grisly and gristly end.

Then “Brave, my lads!” Captain Faulkner loudly cries,
“Lash her bowsprit to our capstan, she’s our prize”;
And he seized some ropes to lash round his foe,
But a musket ball pierced his heart and laid him low.

My Torment Continues Unabated

In desperation I cast my glance about the room, seeking any sort of solace or refuge; but there was no escape. Even the windows were shrouded with heavy drapes, through which no trace of light intruded. Just the bleakness of shelf after shelf of books, no doubt full of tedious horrors like the one being inflicted on me by the Director.

Then a yell of rage burst from the noble crew,
And near to his fallen body they drew;
And tears for his loss fell fast on the deck,
Their grief was so great their tears they couldn’t check.

I looked again at creepy portrait with the wandering eye; it alone broke up the nightmarish room.

To my disbelieving horror, it winked at me.

TO BE CONTINUED.