A changing number of people sit around a conference table. They all bear the same face.
Moderator: The goal is to write fiction posts. What is holding us up?
Word Count: Don’t look at me. You know I can hit a keyboard. Give me an idea and fingers go flying.
Scheduling: Don’t look at me. I make plenty of time for non-fiction posts, for art posts, for lesson posts.
Inner child: Don’t look at me. I wrote tons of stories. Remember, I aced Language Arts assignments. Not my fault if you lot aren’t listening anymore.
Inner Editor: Don’t look at me. I know the difference between a blog post and a professional submission. Post whatever you floats your boat. I won’t stop it. Call me when you get a magazine sale and they want rewrites.
Moderator: Okay. We have the ability and the time. What is the roadblock?
All heads turn to look at a figure sitting in a corner looking at the wall. The figure is wearing a beret.
Moderator, clears throat.
Fiction, turns, flings cape dramatically over a shoulder: What!
Moderator: Do you have anything to say about the subject at hand?
Fiction, closes faceplate of space helmet, goes back to regarding wall: Hmmph.
Moderator: Are you doing a Murderbot impression?
Fiction, turns back, throws a handful of confetti that disappears before reaching the table: Okay, so you have a modicum of imagination.
Moderator: So what is the hold up?
Fiction, adjusting trench coat: You wanna know? You really wanna know?
Moderator: Yes, please.
Fiction, stand to see over tabletop lectern: You. All of you. You are the roadblock. (Points finger at Journalism.) Oh no. I can’t possible change this quote one tiny fraction of an iota.
Journalism: Of course not. If I’m quoting someone it is my job to represent what they said as closely as possible. I have a duty to the truth.
Fiction, twirls Snidley Whiplash mustache: Truth! News flash! Stories are make up! Remember the first graduate school English assignment? You made your argument by citing sources that reflected your points and then the professor busted you for not having any of your own ideas in the paper. Thirty seven years of telling other people’s stories. Do you even know how to tell your own?
Journalism: I think you’re being overly dramatic.
Fiction, tilts head so tiara catches the light: Dramatic? DRAMATIC? Moi? Do you even know what fiction is? (Settles down.) You take notes all the time. Do you ever take notes for me?
Journalism, closes notebook.
Fiction, replaces deerstalker with derby, points finger at Scheduling: And you! With your insistence on deadlines. How many times have you said, The thing about being good with deadlines is not being good without one. You think you are so clever. Do you know what that does to my creativity? You think you can say, It’s Saturday, make with the stories? (Waves hand.) Yes, yes. I assure you I can be professional. I can produce on demand …
Pauses for dramatic effect.
… once I get some respect around here.
Scheduling, looks down, shuffles papers on table.
Fiction, blows soap bubbles from wand, points finger at Photography: Don’t look so smug over there. How many times have you taken a photo for the beauty of it? For the inherent challenge of capturing a fleeting moment of light? Oh no, it’s all work and classes and blog posts. I’ve seen the camera folder on the phone. Every photo was taken on assignment. You are no more spontaneous than those other two.
Moderator: You feel quite passionate about this. Maybe you can turn this attitude into something.
Fiction, picks up ornate fountain pen: Hmmmm.
Scheduling, crosses ‘Write Saturday post’ off to do list.
Onwards!
Katherine
Virtual Brush Box 