We writers all know them. The dastardly devil of a storyline, a tangent quite uninvited, the stealthy specter of a novel frolicking in the far corner of your eye. Come on, admit it. You know the troublemaker well.
Usually he pops up at the end of a huge writing project, right when the end is in sight but there’s still a league or two of rough seas ahead to reach it. A stray thought crawls out of the back of your imagination and face-plants itself on your paper.
“Deal with me now or I’m out of here. And, man, how you’ll be kicking yourself when I’m gone,” the promising, completely intoxicating, completely impossible to follow idea for a new writing project croons from flat on his belly.
I dub this fiend the Plum Bastard.
Why, you may ask?
The word “plum” has been needlessly tickling my literary fancy for weeks. I love the way it is formed on the tongue, the fullness of sound of the single syllable, the richness of voice it dictates. “Plum” just begs for a literary short story to be written, but, alas, I cannot answer.
So, I dub this beautifully vile creature of an idea the Plum Bastard, giving both the word and my utter frustration a home.
Post note: Probably should apologize for this post, but I don’t think I will. I like it. And sometimes that’s enough reason for a thing to be written.