It occurs to me now that I underestimated Emochic. After her defeat she proved a handy escape artist. I barely realized the chair that once held her captive sat empty, for the most part. Only that strip of duct tape with its black-lipped impression remained.
With the help of my successful, confident alter-ego, Xename, I thought Emochic defeated. Instead, she crept back to reaffirm her presence in my exhaustion from a glorious night of writing. That’s why this post arrives late once more.
A few nights ago a scene I wrote grabbed me so hard I cried hard enough I no longer saw what I typed. It moved me, I reveled in the immersion. Then I floundered the next day. Emochic slipped back in during the confusion. She reminded me of all the other times I took pride in my writing and the discouraging critiques I received in turn. She again reminded me that practice improves us, but many of us will never improve enough. I am probably wasting my time.
Then she zeroed in on my flagging energy. After that pathetic session that demanded all my current ability, I stared at something that still needed so much work. “You don’t have the energy to do that often enough to improve,” she whispered. “Your work will always suck and this is meaningless.”
I tried to drown her out. I turned to writing blogs and books in my waning inspiration. In the process, I realized my biggest problem with continuing. As much as that first scene needed improving, it gripped me. Doubts of its ability to grip others aside, it was like those moments when a really excellent performer auditions and someone says “Wow, that’s a tough act to follow.” I also lacked the energy to try, worse yet, Emochic chipped away at my motivation with her little black chisel and over-mascaraed eyes.
Tonight I realized Emochic’s power and her sneaky, subtle ways. My alter-ego kicked in and I became Xename! Note the heroic echo please and the fists to hip pose. With my lasso and duct tape I fight for creativity. As a returning block, Emochic is my nemesis, and we all know what happens to the villain, don’t we kids?
Yeah…I really can’t help that sadistic smirk when I picture Emochic in a shadowed corner, all alone, kissing duct tape again.
Note: I have nothing against emo-kids personally. We all have a little emo in us. AND IT MUST BE CRUSHED. I mean uh…you’re into suffering anyway, right? Nevermind.