Reflections on my Critic

1025 words

Reflections on my Critic

         I sat desperately trying to think of something to enter into the “Silence Your Inner Critic contest" I’d stumbled across. It seemed such a simple thing to write about. We each have that annoying, sometimes helpful, judge tucked inside just waiting with a marker and cardboard sign to rate us from one to ten. I tapped and clicked keys, deleted, played solitaire, clacked away some more. One bag of sunflower seeds and a nearly blank screen later, I started to lose my drive. It seemed hours had passed. I blamed myself. I waited. I wished I were more driven, ambitious, harder on myself. Inspiration would come . . .

          . . . she came.

         “Oh, great. Here we go again.” I hoped my jovial guise would win her affections. No such luck. Her eyes closed to menacing slits.

         “Tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, we begin with a classic “stare down” competition . . . rat a tat tat tatatatatatat.” Her mock drum roll so terrible, I grinned. In a flash, her eyes cut me deep; I met her challenge with a piercing look of my own. Her orbs drilled into mine. I held my gaze. Our glares bored into each other . . . then just bored us. I could see her weariness, and felt my own. We broke in unison.

         “Alright”, I sighed. “Let’s get on with it”.

         “In this corner we have . . . “

         “Knock it off”

         “Knock what off?” Her tone seemed incredulous.

         “The dramatics”

         “Ohhhh,” she teased, “I see.”

         I knew she was baiting me; but, like a big dumb hungry fish, I bit. “What does that mean?”

         “You’re jealous”.

         “Of what?”

         “Of me, Silly. I have flare, style, creativity, a sense of humor . . . all of which you lack.” she tossed her head back, gloating in her brutal honesty. I rather believe it was the brutality that brought the satisfaction. "You lack nearly every quality of a good writer. You are deficient in good ideas, and in the ability to pen the few bad ones you do have. Well, into anything sensible and worthwhile at least. You have no insight, no depth. The computer, not you, then has to edit such garbage because you lack even the most basic grammar skills."

         I also lack your nasty streak, I mused, smug with the notion; I was pleased her barbs hadn't any effect. Darn. Also? Also?! Arrrggh, she did it. First strike and I agreed. The subtle seed of doubt had been planted. I’m losing ground with each passing second . . . think . . . think . . .. “I ooze with creativity”, I blurted out. My pitch rang too defensive, and I knew it.

         “Oh, yeah. Sure. Um hmm”. It was her turn to grin. “And . . . this creativity . . . Would it include the 'Ghost of the Zombie Werewolf Turned Vampire’ outline collecting dust in the closet? The Claustrophobic Sardine tale that got canned before the third chapter? What about last year's ‘hydrophobic fish’ character? How is that coming along?”

         “Swimmingly”, I lied. Stupid werewolf! I knew that piece would come back to bite me in the backside. I had to get away from her. On a good day I considered her a pain in the neck, tonight my opinion was lower! It wasn’t that I was afraid she’d go too far, only that I was sure she wouldn’t stay there when she went. "Glad we could have this little chat. I feel so much better now, thanks". I nodded my head in defeat, and started to rise from my computer.

         “That’s right give up! Quit! Why not put off ‘til tomorrow what you already put off until today,” I heard her call out snidely. "Though, I'm surprised . . . you're such a fastidious writer . . ."

         I paused, rarely did she toss a compliment my way so graciously. I hastily nestled back into my chair."Really? You think? I . . ."

         "Yeah . . . fast and hideous!" Again, I rose to leave. "Hey, come back you . . . you . . . quitter!"

         “I’m not quitting," my eyes locked on hers defiantly, ". . . I’m just quitting you!”

         Ha! I caught her off guard; she was stunned silent. It was short lived. “I wish I knew how to quit you!" she hollered, the last few words garbled, choked with laughter. “ . . . And now presenting the best butchering of a line goes to . . . rat a tat tat tatatatatatat . . . The Brokeback Critic!! Let’s give her a hand folks . . .She's earned it . . . ” She folded her hands across her waist, closed her eyes and bowed. I seized the opportunity. Quickly as I could I turned off the monitor, her face blinked out in an instance. I left the office before she could return.

Ah . . . peace, at last. It felt so good I decided to run a hot relaxing bubble bath. Beautiful, calm still water, this is what I need. Reaching for a razor, I gasped. There she was, looking back at me from the water. A few scant bubbles flecked her face. The corners of her mouth turned upward in a wary grin, “Did you miss me?”

         “Always and never,” I smiled back.

         “I may be your toughest critic; but, you need me,”

         “I know,” my smile broadened.

         “Why are you so happ . . .” she began, the notebook on the edge of the tub catching her eye. “Hey. Let me see. What have you written? Come on, let me look. I bet it's dribble, fraught with errors. I want to . . .uh . . . uh . . . show you how to improve . . .” she pleaded, trailing off. Growing more confident in her quasi-lie she tried, “I want to help you.”

         “You already have.” I brandished the notebook in front her face, nah na na na nah. Inked, word for word, was this very evening’s lively exchange. Thank you.

         "Through knowledge of my weaknesses, I gain strength. Pointing out a goal I've not reached shows me the path. You are the pebble in my shoe that hastens, rather than slows, my pace. You are the agony and angst which drive me ever forward." I didn’t even check her expression before I pulled the plug, letting her slip away to the depths below. I‘ll see her soon enough. My critic, my muse, myself.