Katie stared at her inner editor across the vast dusty span of the street. The sun glinted in her eyes, causing her to squint and putting her at a disadvantage. The editor eyed her with an arch expression, its amorphous-yet-solid hand hovering over the red pen in its holster. Katie held her own blue pen unsteadily, trying to work up the courage to put it to the sheet of paper in her other hand.
"You just failed to mention that it was your right hand you were holding your pen with. And you made me end that sentence with a preposition. How out of character for me."
Katie scowled, trying to ignore the editor's nagging whine of a voice. But at the same time, she squirmed, knowing that the editor was right. She fought the urge to throw the paper away and start anew. At the very least to scratch out and replace. And she hadn't even written anything yet on the paper in her hand.
The editor looked at her from beneath its shady brim of a ten-gallon hat and spat contemptuously in the dust.
"Why is this set in the Old West? It looks like we're in the backlot of some Hollywood company. You couldn't come up with anything more original?"
Katie felt the simultaneous impulses to change the setting to a space ship, a meadow of white daisies and a dark cavern. She remained firm, still squinting against the Wyoming sun, and wiped the dust from her face.
"You don't even know anything about Wyoming," scoffed the editor. "It could be a rainforest for all you know."
"Would you shut up?" Katie gritted out, feeling weary. "I'm realizing why I didn't miss you all of November. Your presence is truly crippling."
"It's just because you're not good enough," the editor remarked, examining the fingers of the hand that was not hovering over the red pen. "Perfection is too distant a goal for the likes of you. I'm just helping you realize that. Believe me, it's for your own good."
Katie closed her eyes and squelched the waves of 'insignificant' and 'worthless' that were radiating from the editor, but just barely. As it was, twinges of the feelings rippled through her, despite her better knowledge. Summoning all of her strength, she set the tip of her pen on the paper.
"Oh please," the editor laughed, "You used that cliche? And really, it's not all that bad." But the editor was now watching Katie very intently. Its fingers were curling and uncurling over the holster at its hip.
Fingers cramping, Katie slowly dragged the pen down the paper and then across it and in a dozen other angles in short, pained strokes. The editor was abruptly both at Katie's shoulder, reading the words that emerged, and also still across the street, growing visibly agitated.
"'Katie stared at her inner editor'" the editor read out loud, the clipped perfection of its voice drawing to light how inadequate every word sounded, "'across the vast dusty span of the street.' Honestly, what is this drivel?"
But Katie was still writing, the pen moving a little faster, though still cautious and self-conscious.
"'The sun beat down on the two of them,'" the editor continued reading with a shaky confidence, "'and Katie tipped the brim of her wide hat back a little so she could see her opponent better.' What? You're not even wearing a hat."
But the editor had to swallow its words with a pale face, for Katie was indeed wearing a hat worthy of a John Wayne flick. The wide brim shaded her eyes, casting an intimidating shadow across her face. The editor was beginning to get nervous again. Its hand had dropped all the way to finger at the tooled leather of its holster. Katie was still writing, the blue ink of the pen laying out words in crisp contrast tot he snow paper. The editor read on, the confidence shrinking completely from its voice.
"'The editor paled as Katie flicked out her pen in a blur of motion and a decisive click.'" Indeed, the editor had gone pale and was even trembling a little.
"'Katie wrote, faster and faster her pen flew, churning out reams of pure awesomeness.' What is this?" the editor sputtered indignantly. "Where's the buildup of action? The suspense? You've cut to the action too soon! The reader will wonder what led up to this! That's a ridiculously long and incoherent sentence! And 'awesomeness' isn't even a word!"
Katie wasn't listening. Her brow furrowed beneath the brim of her essence-of-movie-Old-West hat and the pen continued its scratching progress across the paper.
"'The month of November had made Katie strong. She had learned the ways of editor-ignoring and turning shoddy writing into a way of happiness,'" the editor faithfully read, but Katie ignored it.
"'Confronted with her eave of newfound, hard-earned epic win, Katie's inner editor shriveled up and - '"
But the editor could not continue, as it had shriveled up like a grape turning into a raisin, frothing at the mouth the entire time. Then, with a desperate whine, the editor exploded into crumpled sheets of paper with scratched out writing covering the sides. Katie didn't even look up, but lifted her pen to scratch her nose, reading what she had written with satisfaction.
"'thanks to the great gifts of November and the society of other young writers, Katie had learned how to subdue the perfectionist that was the inner editor. Stepping over the remains of said editor, Katie climbed onto her gryphon with an impressive jingling of spurs and flew off into the sunset.'"
Katie looked up and patter her mount's shoulder affectionately, then holstered her pen and gathered up the reins. The sunset loomed ahead of them and freedom and oodles of pure genius writing were waiting for her. The inner editor knew who was boss now, and now she was able to write badly and be proud.
----
A/N: Yes, this is dedicated to all your YWSers and was written Christmas Eve as I waited impatiently for Santa. The story behind it is I couldn't sleep and wanted to be writing, but was terrified to try on any of my real projects. I successfully locked up my editor for the month of November, but now it is back with a vengeance. So I wrote this drivel about defeating my inner editor, all the while ignoring the nagging of said editor. It made me feel better.
Disclaimer: This is not to advocate bad writing. Seriously, there are some people who just write badly and don't seem to care. They've totally killed their inner editor and it's really annoying. But there are some people (like me currently) who want to be writing, but are hampered by an overdeveloped sense of perfectionism. We can't write, for fear we will write badly. November, and the pure win that is NaNoWriMo, helped to break down my inhibitions. So this is doubly dedicated to all the YWSers and especially to all who suffer as I do at the hands of tyrannical inner editors. (Editors are great things. Really. Without them, every piece of writing ever would look like the one above. Just imagine. *shudders*)
