Fear Not

Dear Rough Draft,

I am not afraid of you. Yes, yes, I know sometimes you seem intimidating, or (worse yet) meaningless. I know how you can spin yourself into a tangled rat's nest that nearly impossible to wend my way out of. Sometimes you roar or growl or cluck like a chicken. Sometimes there are juicy squirming sounds as if you're made of worms. Nice.

Sometimes you play hard to get. Oh sure, the words are there when I call up the file, but they're just decoys. You cast them off like a locust skin and scuttle somewhere dark where you huddle, moist and pale and defenseless, until your carapace can thicken and you reemerge into the light. Gross. Even when you hide you're kind of creepy.

Other times you smell bad. Like old potatoes, or rotting fish, or garbage that someone forgot to take out before leaving for vacation. In the summer. And the AC is broken. Sometimes you buzz with flies.

Sometimes you wait in the room before I turn the light on, and I can hear you breathing. Wait a second, your breathing sounds funny. Are you ... are you actually laughing at me?

I'm not afraid of you because I have the only weapon I need. Which, coincidentally, is the only weapon that can tame you.

I. Won't. Stop.

Go ahead, be meaningless. Be intimidating. Hide. Stink. Refuse to make sense. Do whatever you think is best because I'm coming for you and I will not stop until the story is finished.

I'm not afraid of you.


p.s. Dear Publishing Industry: I'm not afraid of you either.