Not that she didn't deserve it, mind you, but I'm not usually prone to that kind of violence. It surprised me to what extent I would go to silence the nasty garbage spewing from her mouth.
See, I got a rejection today. It was a good rejection, a great one actually (if rejections can ever be considered great) and came in the form of a phone call. I always thought calls were reserved for the few select who received an acceptance. I'd never heard of a phone rejection, and yet that is what I got today. It was an extremely nice and complimentary rejection for a book I was told was 99% there--they just couldn't fit me into their publishing schedule for at least two years and rather than hold onto it, they were going to let it go so I could find a home for it somewhere else.
Well, after another no and another "almost", I was feeling pretty low and my inner critic started in on me. "Why even bother sending it out to agents? Even if they like the book, they'll never find a picture of you good enough to go in the back cover," she snarled. That brought me up cold. "Stop right there," I said in response, but she wouldn't stop. She continued to spit her nasty drivel in my direction and I just couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't true. I knew it with all my heart, so first I pounded on her face, then suddenly my hands sprouted sickle blades and, whack--her head went flying.
My first thought was, "Oh no, I've killed my inner critic!", but the silence was so divine I couldn't help but smile and then laugh out loud. The nasty voice was quiet. I'm sure she'll find her way back to life at some point, but for now, when I need it the very most, she is gone.
Oh, blessed relief!
Thought of the day: "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."