On the Creation of the Manifesto, Part I

Ethelie

O my little Jelly Donuts!

Last week, we released our Manifesto, to great Acclaim. Our deepest Thanks to all who Read it and helped us Spread the Word. And if you have not yet read it, Fie! Read now!

We released it with a simple Click of a Button, a virtual Wave of the Hand, which made it look Effortless. So we Wished you to Believe: for we are the Fiction-Writing Directorate, and we are Experts. Yet the byword of this brave new Inter-Net is Authenticity. Vulnerability. And so we must share our Travails with you, in order that you may Learn from our Experience.

Thus, the Tale of the Manifesto’s Birth.

Our Rude Awakening.

O my little Acorn Squash! The Fiction-Writing Directorate has been having such a Lovely time with the Inter-Net. We’ve written Posts. We’ve gotten Comments. We’ve learned Twitter. We’ve made new Friends. We’ve helped Writers avoid the Terrible Consequences of not Writing. Everything was going Swimmingly — or so we Thought.

Our ignorant Bliss was rudely Interrupted upon receipt of a Missive from the Inter-Web Licensing Council. It said, it the Sternest Terms, that their Inspectors had determined we lacked a Manifesto, and if we did not Remedy this situation promptly, our Inter-Net License would be withdrawn!

O, the horror! I am ashamed to admit that I swooned.

When I awakened, one thing was Clear:

We Needed a Manifesto.

Never mind how we got this Far without realizing this Critical Requirement; all that mattered now was that we Remedy our Lapse.

“A Manifesto of the Quality we require can only be found in one Place,” Gustav told us. A terrible Shadow fell over his Face, as he Considered the true Horror of his words. “It can only be had at Great Personal Risk. It can only be had after Defeating sundry Enemies and our own Fear. However, it should be a Marvelous Adventure — if we Survive.”

“Why, that sounds like Writing,” simpered Lida. “Writing is also a Marvelous Adventure! Which requires Overcoming Fear, and Numerous Obstacles.”

“Except for the ‘only one place’ part,” I reminded her, sternly. We did not have Time to be Sidetracked by her Foolishness. This was no Metaphor; it was an urgent Mission. “Tell us, Gustav! Where must we go to obtain our Manifesto?”

“The Manifesto Mines of Kazakhstan,” he said, and we heard Death in his Voice.

Our Arrival at the Manifesto Mines of Kazakhstan.

We had no Choice, so we Hurridly packed our Essential Equipment (such as Ropes, Pick-Axes, Bananas, Dynamite, several Lapsed Writers to serve in lieu of Canaries, and Extra Socks)  and boarded Lida’s Zeppelin. Finally that showy Monstrosity would be of some Use. As we floated toward our Destination, Gustav told us Gruesome Tales of the Mines so that we would be Fully Prepared for what we would Face.

O, my little Mocking-Birds! You know I am no Coward; my Work requires the closest Interaction with Beasts and other Horrors; yet Gustav’s tales Chilled me to the Bone. The Manifesto Mines, he said, were simply filled with Terrors such as Goblins, Unionized Miners, blind Cave Bats, Noxious Gasses, assorted Wraiths and Haunts, tentacled Nightmares, ancient Demon-possessed Artifacts, &.

“Just like Writing!” Lida said, though she should have been Focusing on Piloting the Zeppelin; I had no wish to die in a Firey Crash before we reached our hideous Destination.

I sighed, Patiently. “Our Courage and Skill shall make these Horrors mere Inconveniences,” I said, firmly, for I could show no Fear, lest my Doubts infect the Others. Confidence!

After Skillfully navigating through Ferocious Winds, a modest Hurricane, a pack of angry and shrill Ban-Sidhe, and even the wrathful Tentacles of a lonely Kraken once when Lida dozed and the Zeppelin fell too low toward the glowering Sea (O! that Child! I wish she would pay Attention instead of risking us All!), we arrived in Kazakhstan in the darkest hours of the Night, in a Thunder-Storm. Trembling, Weary, and Hungry, we disembarked, and Gasped: for we were surrounded by Angry and Rebellious local Miners with Rifles.

“Just like writing,” Lida muttered.

“Shut up,” I said, and pushed her toward the nearest Rifleman.

TO BE CONTINUED