Blog: Here Be Dragons

It’s a grumpy early morning after too little sleep. Mornings like this I like to write, the world is quiet and there are no distractions. The words don’t always come easily though, sometimes they have to be led, coerced, teased. Some mornings the words don’t come at all, and on those mornings, mornings such as this, I send for the Dragon. Everyone is getting fed to a Dragon that just appeared from nowhere, it’s a temporary fix. No need to explain it, the sky darkens and wind snaps at the membrane of its wings as it makes its thunderous entrance. Sure they can question it, rail against such unfair tactics.

“What the sweet fuckery is a Dragon doing here?!”

“Holy shit do you see that Dragon?”

“Dragons don’t even belong in Tech Noirs Colin!”

“Sweet baby J! Another Dragon?!. OK wrap it up guys, Colin is stuck again so we are getting fed to the Dragon in three, two, one..”

But in the end I’m the author, I’ll do what I bloody well please. So everyone gets fed to the Dragon.

They give the poor thing heartburn seeing as they are a bunch of unpalatable troglodytes…There is something therapeutic about feeding difficult characters to a large carnivore. Don’t want to fit nicely into the story arc? Fed to the Dragon. Don’t know which direction to take the plot next, feed everyone to the Dragon and have it burn everything to the ground and piss on the ashes.

It has its own set of little kebab skewers, some sauces and has itself a good little barbecue going on. The Dragon is going to get fat, this is what happens though when you try to domesticate a wild animal, they become dependant on you for food. And now the Dragon is sat outside in the mist, lurking, looking in with keen eyes and an eager stomach. Just waiting for a hiccup in the plot, a piece that doesn’t quite fit or if it is very lucky, to catch Colin in an early morning grumble where he proceeds to feed everything and everyone to a large mythological creature of vaguely reptilian stature. Oh but how it pouts when things are going right.

Still, I guess the Dragon doesn’t make demands of me. The Dragon doesn’t need character growth or depth. It doesn’t ask for meaning or theme, it doesn’t desire to be relatable or engaging to the reader. It just eats my literary problems and I love it for that. Until such a time as my consciousness manages to break through the narcissism and self adulation and sparks, however briefly, that self destructive thought: I am the cause of all my literary issues. I must feed myself to the Dragon.

The Dragon waits patiently outside the window.

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