Creative Me is hurting. She's throwing her arms up in the air, moaning her suffering, and pacing back and forth. The computer is forgotten, except for some scowls to it ever so often, the inspiring tea cup is gathering dust and no matter what Sensible Me, says, it's just not working.
- I hate him! She exclaims, once again throwing her arms in the air. - How can he do this to me? To ME!
The He in question is not a romantic him. It's an Editor.
- I'm sure he does this to loads of writers. Sensible Me tries to put oil on boiling water, or was it water on boiling oil? It has no effect either way.
- I am not like loads of writers! Creative Me shrieks. - I am Me! I deserve better than this ... than this hack, butchering my work. He doesn't understand me! Ha! Don't think that I will ever forget this!
Creative Me has now hurled herself on the sofa, one arm thrown over her face. A few sobs once in a while completes the effect. Sensible Me sighs patiently. - Look, it's not like he told you the manuscript was crap. Because he didn't, you know.
- He might as well. He said no, didn't he? Editors! Ha! What do they know?
Sensible Me knows better than to laugh at the Drama. She doesn't want to put fire to the ... eh ... oil. - He said there was things about it he liked. Like the conflict and the time period, and some of the characters.
- He said ... he said ... Creative Me can barely speak from the horror. - He said I have to rewrite the entire book!
Sensible Me can't hide a smile. - I told you so, she says, all smugness and triumph in her voice. - I told you it needed far more work.
- But it's 410 pages long! I've worked on it for ages. Are they never satisfied?
- Why don't you just go on with it? Read the manuscript, take out the bad parts, and put in the good parts? You're so good at that.
Creative Me peeks through her fingers. - I am?
- Oh, yes. Sensible Me wants to hit her over the head with a poker, but smiles instead. She knows only too well that she can't do it by herself. - Listen, I'll do the cutting and pasting, and you write the new stuff. It'll be fun.
- No! It's boring! Why can't he just love it? Hm? Is that too much to ask? Hm? Why doesn't he write a book and I can trash that?
The though pleaser her so much she sits up in the sofa. - I could twitter about it, and put it out on Facebook, and I could blog about it, and it will all be about how horrible, horrible he is. Ha!
- Or maybe we should just rewrite the book, make it so good he'll beg us to publish it? Isn't that better?
Creative Me gets the «Mad Writer" look in her eyes, and rubs her hands together. - Oh, yes! That'll show him! And I will give it to another Editor, someone who appreciates my genious. That'll make him suffer like I do now!
- We'll see about that when the times come. Sensible Me is far to sensible to carry grudges. She points a stack of papers next to the computer - Now go. Make him suffer!
Creative Me goes over to the paper stack and starts reading. Sensible Me hands her a pencil, a pink one with a feather. - I'll get you some of that chocolate you like so much.
Behind her, Creative Me is humming quietly to herself. Sensible Me lets out a sigh of relief. Boy, am I glad I'm not the creative one, she thinks as she picks up a book on grammar and settles down with it. Thank God someone has a clear head.
Creative Me laughs like the Mad Writer she is.