On the occasion of finishing the first pages of yet another unsolicited and highly speculative script, I ask myself, “Does the world really need one more sample of my writing? My voice must be known by now to everyone within a tri-county area...”
In a brief and uncommon moment of clarity, the answer is a resounding, “NO.” As I glance at the Save The Pixels Federation pamphlet, images of baby seals being clubbed to death fill my head. I feel a dull pang of guilt as I remember all the innocent pixels I have slaughtered without a payday.
My comrades in flannel shirts slap me on the back and tell me, “Man up. There is no such thing as an innocent pixel,” but their words do little to cheer me up. As I take another sip from my non-alcoholic beverage with a little pink umbrella in it, I sigh and respond, “When is this thing going to love me back? When do I see a pay day?”
Yes, there it is — When will this thing love me back? When will I get paid? It is at this point a translucent figure in a flowing gown appears before me - He or she is, of course, backlit in a shimmering warm glow. With arms spread wide and palm open towards me so we can see their stigmata, this ephemeral being reveals the truth, “Your enjoyment of writing is your payday - Go forth and pixilate.” This more spiritually evolved being then floats off stage left to their day job at McDonald’s.
Yes, gentle readers, fellow scribes and addicts, this is what happens when you hit the wall — Let us pray.