I wrote this story a few weeks ago on a small device with my fat thumbs.

It’s really just a bunch of quirky metaphors describing issues that writers face – or at least issues that this writer faces. Hopefully it is interesting, entertaining, and makes you chuckle inside your head. (Or outside?)

Oh, yeah.  I was using the voice of a grouchy little man with a New Jersey accent when I wrote it…

I don’t know why but it fit the moment.

Here we go

 

I’ve always loved a good story.  One where they can reel you in with a compelling plot and end up blowing your mind away like an unguarded napkin at the beach.  That’s what got me into writing.  I wanted to write stories that turned everyone else into floating napkins so I could be the all-powerful seagull up in the air, waiting to drop a bomb at the perfect moment.

There’s more to writing than a wonderful story though. (You can practically see my evil seagull self landing on the water with droopy wings.)  Writing takes skill not only in the premise of the story, but also the formatting of the words.  You can’t write out your basic plot and hope to sell it.  Besides, someone would take it apart and get more money off of it than you could’ve ever dreamed of with your version.

So, after reading feministic classics revolving around redheads and overly-positive young girls, I set about to writing phenomenal descriptions.  It would either be an interesting, exhilerating experience like flying over a vast ocean as the seagull, or it would be like the napkin who has a gull bomb dropped on him.  Everything depended on those stupid little details.  Every description I wrote seemed to be “that wasn’t so bad” or “those sorts of things didn’t matter”.

Nothing was ever good enough.  No critique or edit was right.  It was like a bird teaching a bat to fly.  The bird knows how to catch air currents, soar without flapping its wings much, and conserving energy.  The bat has many issues.  First, he’s got funny rubber wings.  No extra aerodynamic strength.  Second, he has no patience to get on an air current.  Bugs don’t play there.  Third, he HAS to flap a lot.  It’s his nature.

I often imagined myself as the regal eagle.  Majestic, melancholy, and immense skills.  There are no flaws in an eagle, and I thought I was all that with a slice of cake.  You could imagine the kinds of landings I had: awkward, screeching, and upside-down.  Somehow I always got back into the air though – much to the exhaustion of my superiors, the birds.  I kept on flying the way I was meant to, eating any and all of the bugs on my radar.

There was one thing I could do that the birds couldn’t do though.  Sure, they’re good at landing, singing, and soaring, but they can’t fly in the dark, now can they?  (Except owls.) I was a bat.  I belonged to the night.  It was my superpower, and I knew I was even better than the eagles.  That’s the way I’m supposed to be: fluttering through the shadows, dominating the night.

 

I’d also like to send a thank you to the lovely Sam Baker from sambakerwrites.com for beta reading!

 

Thanks for reading!