Loch Success Monster

by Brenda K. Hendricks

While I ponder my next story, I drift into a subconscious state where I. Wanda Wright floats down the Genre River. Her fingers dance over the keyboard, and stuffing story after story into bottles, she launches them into the Sea of Prose.

Without warning, she hits the Rapids of Rejection. Not for us! No unsolicited manuscripts! Wanda clings to her computer. Similar material on hand. Does NOT meet our current needs. Wanda sighs. Barely noticing the rapids have calmed slightly, she opens the last letter. Please make indicated changes and resubmit.
“It looks like she sacrificed my work to some sort of pagan manuscript god.” Wanda says.
“Revise. Revise. Revise,” the wind of perseverance responds.
Perspiration saturates her back as she crops a huge hunk of well written, but unnecessary description. Finally, Wanda leans back and reads her manuscript.
“YES! This is much tighter and clearer. I’m going to revise them all.”
Within 48 hours, bottles of revised stories bobble toward new horizons. As Wanda sails beyond the Rapids of Rejection, her dinghy drifts near a sandbank.
“Look at those rocks.” A voice sails from Writers’ Block Isle.
Wanda stops typing to survey the island. In rowboats much like hers, two writers recline with arms folded.
“Hey, I’m Wanda Wright,” she calls and drifts closer.
“You’ll never make it.” One grimaces. “There are too many better writers and not enough publishers. You might as well stop here ‘cause you won’t get much farther.”
“Never mind Atti Tude. She’s so discouraging,” the other writer says. “Me? I love writing. Why, just yesterday I almost—would you look at those daffodils. I have to pick some. And then, I’ll gather and scrub some of these sparkly stones.” Climbing out of her boat, she meanders across the grass.
“What about writing?” Wanda calls, but the distracted writer is too far away to hear.
“Pfft.” Atti waves her hand. “Lotta Skewses never writes anything. Of course, it wouldn’t do her any good anyway. She’d sail directly into the rapids.”
Wanda turns to Atti and says, “The Rapids of Rejections are difficult, but they can be overcome.”
Atti’s hands perch on her hips. “Do you realize the rejections never end?”
“I don’t mind rejections. And I am making progress.”
“P-l-e-ase.” Atti clicks her tongue in disgust. “Your writing won’t change the course of the world, you know. Besides, people could misinterpret your message.”
“Maybe,” Wanda says. “Hey, why don’t we form a critique group? It would solve the misinterpretation issue. We could help each other with marketing, and—”
Atti huffs, wrinkles her nose, and turns her back on Wanda.
“Sorry to have bothered you. Farewell.” Wanda says. As her dinghy races over the water, she smiles. There are no bad experiences for a writer, just more writing material.
In the distance, an odd-shaped, dismal mound casts an eerie shadow across the sea. An I’m-being-watched feeling ceases Wanda. She rubs down the goose flesh on her arms and resumes writing. When she looks up, the image is gone.
“A mirage, without a doubt.”
A hot puff of air sends chills down her back, and she turns to face the Loch Success Monster.
He snorts. “What if success changes you?”
Wanda cringes and the monster expands.
“What if as you succeed, your editors become more demanding?” The fire from the monster’s nostrils almost singes Wanda’s hair. “You’ll be overworked and never be able to write what you want, that’s what.”
Wanda freezes.
Suddenly, the words from her long-time friend and mentor, Emmon Author, pop into Wanda’s head. To build confidence, seek small assignments on familiar subjects.
Following the advice, Wanda casts a line to several publishers. She works diligently and completes the first project two weeks ahead of schedule.
With a groan, the monster shrinks.
As confidence builds, Wanda accepts assignments on topics she’d like to learn more about. With the completion of each project, the Loch Success Monster shrivels and his voice mutes. At long last, the winds of perseverance blow him away.
As the current eases I. Wanda Wright across the Sea of Prose, I drift back to consciousness eager to launch my next manuscript.