So, I’ve been working this month on a WIP that wasn’t dragon ridden. I thought I’d get a jump on that fucker, you see, and work steadily on something I liked but didn’t grab me by the throat. But… but… I couldn’t figure out why it didn’t grab me by the throat? What was I doing wrong? Should I keep working on it? Should I go on to something I liked a little better? It had a lot of funny parts… is it that I just can’t write humor without the painful bloody part? What was wrong?
I worried this WIP, I wiggled parts of it like a sore tooth. I prodded the parts that didn’t work. I thought carefully about my ending… I… I… *CRAFTED*. I crafted this sucker… I dwelled on it… I… I…
I stayed up three nights running to get to the end, go back to the middle, and then come back and re-edit the end. Twice.
And as I sent that puppy off to some beta readers–and then sent off the second re-edited version with the better ending because (as the editors at DSP know very well) I can’t just SEND something off for corrections without trying to fix it before they find the ugly parts, and then, as I was sitting in the silence of my keyboard and a WIP off for beta reading, I heard it.
My dragon was LAUGHING at me.
Thought you could pull one off on me, did you? Thought you could write without me? Thought you could pick a WIP that didn’t have my attention and just pick at it and try to have a life and try to clean the kitchen and try not to obsess about not getting your shit done? Yeah? Are you relaxing? Is your kitchen clean? Noooo… and to make matters even better, you haven’t just been WRITING, which is what you do when you give me full reign, you’ve been CRAFTING. You know who crafts? You know who natters and picks and lathes and sands away at a story like that? Uh-huh, you know.
AN ARTIST. AN ARTIST crafts like that. You know what an artist has that the rest of the world has starved to death, don’t you?
You all know the answer to this. I know you do.
THEY HAVE A FUCKING DRAGON!!!
Shit. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t bored. He was waging a sneak attack on my subconscious.
Fucking dragon.
And I should let all you know that this is now my favorite song.
I can see your dragon laying back on his bed of gold, smoking a big ceegar and laughing at you. Except – well – I don't know if I ought to tell you this but – – You ARE your dragon. You ARE an artist. You ARE a nauthor!
You know, if you look at the cover reptile on Backspacer and squint, it could be a dragon mocking you.