I have spent a year and a half of time pouring and tearing hairs out at my book baby. 191 single-spaced pages and half a bald head later, the first draft is finally done.
This whole book is but a draught—nay, but a draught of a draught. Oh, Time, Strength, Cash, and Patience !
While my book is literally “but a draught,” this quote from Moby Dick reflects the appalling and awesome amount of work that still needs to be done.
Young Cinaverat Fimos1, vacuum extraordinaire, enjoyed eating dirt. He also liked to listen to his owner sing covers of Lady Gaga songs about love2 to him. Cinaverat Fimos often didn’t understand the lyrics, but he tried to enjoy the rhythms and notes.
His life started to suck the day he found himself tasting concrete.
“And STAY out,” his owner screamed. Cinaverat Fimos was optimistic and licked the sand off some little sidewalk pebbles.
“Hey, this isn’t too bad,” he thought to himself, “I could get used to this.” Just then two wicked girls ran by and started pushing him around and spitting on him.
“You SUCK!” They yelled at him, laughing. He nodded, but grew wary of their attentions. He decided to drink a potion that an ancient and wise ironing board gave him a while ago.
When he swallowed it, everyone fell in love with him and chased him around trying to ogle his trash sack. You see, the ironing board had been ancient and senile and had given Cinaverat Fimos a strong philter. It was so strong, that to escape the throngs of civilians, Cinaverat Fimos gave a mighty bound and leapt into a tree.
Unfortunately, Cinaverat Fimos, in all his thundering youth and stupidity, forgot that vacuums can’t climb down from trees so he died. Some people say that they can still see the ghostly remains of his fan belt sucking sadly at Vermont treetops, but some people are liars.
(Curtain opens to an empty stage. TT, a large, red, metal box sits exactly Center S. ME enters wearing sunglasses and a contemplative expression)
TT—Hey, girl in the sunglasses, what are you thinking about?
ME—(Stops and looks around in confusion) Hmm? Did you just speak to me large red metal sidewalk box?
TT—Yeah, call me Think Tank. What are you thinking about?
ME—Think Tank? Oh, umm I guess I’m just thinking about life. Life and the tomatoes I’m about to buy.
TT—Oh yeah? Life and tomatoes? That sounds pretty complicated. Take a seat and let’s talk it out.
ME—Okay, I’m not really in a rush to get anywhere. Where should I sit?
TT—Come on in, I’m well air-conditioned.
(TT’s face cracks open slightly. The opening reveals a small padded room. ME looks in, but isn’t convinced)
ME—It looks pretty small in there.
TT—Come on, girl, it’s not small, it’s snug. Don’t you remember comfort? Think about my four precise walls touching each other at exactly 90 degrees. Just imagine the luxuries available when everything is right or wrong.
ME—I don’t know…That seems like an over-simplified way of looking at life and problem solving.
TT—Get in already, girl. Hurry up!
(Smoke curls out of TT’s cracked face. Girl starts backwards in a great hurry.)
ME—I really must be going, those tomatoes might be sold out by now, I’ll see you later TT.
(ME trips as she tries to exit Stage R. She falls to the ground and explodes into a million shards of glass. Orchestra begins slow crescendo of warm-up noises.)
TT—(Barely audible over progressively loud orchestra) Grad school will get you girl, even if didn’t today.
