From the Dreaded One’s Desk: the Demon of Procrastination

“Gotcha!” The Dreaded Author punched the button on her evil controller and the poor unfortunate monster before her exploded in a small puff of flame.

“Um, your dreadfulness?” A minion poked its head around the side of a stack of nearby books. “I thought we were going to–”

“Not now, I’m busy slaying,” snarled the Dreaded One. “Unless you want me to slay you instead.”

“But your evilness–”

“Quiet!” The Dreaded Author leaned forward, intent on the scene before her and ready for another kill. Only everything dissolved into blackness before her.

“Arg! I hadn’t saved yet!” roared the Dreaded Author. “What’s wrong with this stupid thing?”

The minion nearby jumped back in fear, however, another minion stood up behind the blank screen in front of the Dreaded Author. “I pulled the plug, actually,” the scheduling minion said, holding up the offending object in its hand.

With a series of curses, the Dreaded One tossed the now useless controller at the scheduling minion, but it only ducked.

“I’ll flay you alive!” The Dreaded Author was in a terrible mood.

“That game is nothing but a trap,” the scheduling minion said, entirely unfazed. “One that has stolen away not only your productivity but is stifling your creativity as well.”

“Nonsense.” The Dreaded Author scowled and folded her arms. “A good friend gave me that game.”

“You mean the Demon of Procrastination?”

“Well, I–”

The scheduling minion held up a claw, forestalling any excuses. “You really don’t think he might have ulterior motive?”

“Er…”

The scheduling minion brandished his clipboard. “Now see here, you have the proofs back from your editor on your newest Calico Avenger book, which means only the art is holding up the book from getting published–art you agreed to do personally.”

“Well I was getting to it…”

“Not to mention!” The scheduling minion tapped his claws on the clipboard. “There’s those revisions to your novel you planned from attending the Darcy Patterson retreat, including a brand new ending.”

“You see, I was–”

“And you have those last minute line edits from your Dreaded Brother’s proof reading to fix on Dragon Boy, which I might mention is out on submission. What if someone requests it? Those definitely need to be fixed right away!”

“Oh, fine, fine.” The Dreaded Author sighed dramatically.

“Don’t fine, fine, me,” snarled the scheduling minion. “We have five weeks’ worth of things to get done in three weeks! You’d better get started!”

“I said fine.” With a vicious snarl the Dreaded Author reached for the laptop and the pad of drawing paper. “See, I’m starting.”

“Good.” The scheduling minion marched out of the room, clipboard held high.

“Just as soon as I finish this book,” muttered the Dreaded Author pulling one off the top of the stacks of books.

The other minion dared a peek back around the stack. “Isn’t that the Japanese novel the Demon of Distraction sent you?”

“Yes.” The Dreaded Author cocked an evil eyebrow at the minion. “And if you don’t get me a nice cold smoothie and a bar of chocolate to go with it, I’ll flay you alive.” Then she settled back to enjoy her book as the minion scurried away.

From the Dreaded One’s Desk: The Dusty Lair

“Your evilness?” The Productivity Head Minion poked its head into the Dreaded Lair. Cob-webs hung low from the ceiling and dust was everywhere. Papers, dirty clothing and dishes, leftover Christmas decorations, and snack wrappings littered the floor. The desk was piled so high with junk even the window behind it was obscured.

“Most Dreaded One!” yelled the minion, picking its way through the room.

“Go away, I’m busy,” snarled the Dreaded Author from behind her book. Her feet were propped up against the windowsil and she was just in the exciting part of the novel she’d gotten for Christmas.

“But your dreadfulness! You’ve neglected not only the lair this time but your work as well. Do you realize it’s been thirty six days since you last wrote anything new?”

The Dreaded Author glared, purposely not notifying the minion that a dirty candy wrapper had gotten stuck to its leg. “I’ve been productive! My goal last month was to edit! In fact, just two days ago I was at my writer’s group to read ten freshly edited pages!”

“Freshly as in you stayed up the night before and they were full of typos which embarrassed you horribly,” the minion said. “You’ve lost your muse!”

“It’s somewhere in here,” said the Dreaded Author. “Under all the junk.”

“Exactly! Lost! It’s time to get productive! Clean this up, find the muse, and get cracking.” The minion puffed up its chest. “We’ve decided it’s high time you stopped lazing around and got going again.”

The Dreaded Author growled and hurled the book at the minion. It ducked. The book hit a pile of boxes which fell down with a crash sending a cloud of dust into the air. Only then did the Dreaded One realize she’d lost not only her place, but probably the book as well. “Look what you’ve made me do!” She got to her feet, flexing her claws.

“And your awfulness, the worst of it is, it has be six months since you last did any marketing.” The Productivity Minion shook a claw at the Dreaded One. “Shame on you!”

“I was busy!” roared the Dreaded Author, incensed. “I was camping with friends in August! Visiting Korea in September! Writing a brand new novel in November! Christmas obligations in December! All perfectly good excuses!”

“And during October?” The minion smirked.

“Something very important, I’m sure.” The Dreaded One swiped at the minion, but it dodged and she knocked over a teapot spilling moldy water across the floor. Snarling, the Dreaded One jumped back only to land a sticky candy wrapper and knock over a pile of papers with her elbow sending them across the floor. “I can’t work in this mess! And I certainly can’t market in this mess!” she roared.

“So which is easier? Dishes or a blog post?” the Productivity Minion asked with a wicked grin.

“Eating you for dinner is what I’d call easier!” The Dreaded One attacked again, furious that the minion had a good point. Getting mold out of a teapot or packing away the Halloween decorations from last year were all considerably more bother than a simple blog post. Unfortunately the junk was too thick to get anywhere near the little minion. It raced across the room and out the door before the Dreaded Author could even begin to untangle herself from the mess.

“Bother those minions, they’re useless anyway,” she growled sulkily. At least the last pile to fall over revealed the book she’d been reading earlier. Wiping the tea slime off on a stray sweatshirt, the Dreaded One settled back down to read. Productivity could just wait a little longer.

“You missed October,” said the

Your lair isn’t just messy, it’s covered in dust. Your lair has been neglected while you’ve been off gallivanting around!”

From the Dreaded One’s Desk: The Evils of Illustration

“Erm, your dreadfulness?” the Art Minion asked.

“What?” The Most Evil Dreaded Author bared fangs while trying to carefully ink the lines of her picture over the make-shift light table.

“I think the cat’s head is crooked… maybe you should start this one over.”

“And maybe I should boil you in oil,” grumbled the Dreaded One.

The Art Minion shut up.

The Editorial Minion sidled up for a closer look. “I think that arm is the wrong angle, and why does that dress have pointing lace on one side and rounded lace on the other?”

“Lest me show you why.” The Dreaded One flashed fangs and bonked the minion on the nose with the pen.

“Ow. No need to get so prickly,” the Editorial Minion muttered and slunk off.

“I demand silence! The next minion who speaks before I do gets toilet scrubbing duty!” The Dreaded One glared, mollified a little by the minions’ cowering. Trying to ignore her increasing frustration at trying to draw, she could fully recall why she didn’t do it often. Seconds later, the ink pen lingered over the paper a fraction of a second too long, leaving a blotch of ink.

“Arg! I hate this,” the Dreaded One roared, throwing her pen across the room.

The Production Minion decided this was the moment for a status update. “It’s looking very good, your evilness,” he said, bowing, and ignoring the tantrum. “But you must finish by tonight if you are to make your Dreaded Deadline.”

“I’m the Dreaded Author!” snarled the Dreaded One. “Author. Not Illustrator! What is this nonsense? Get someone else to do it!”

“Your awfulness,” interjected the Budgeting Minion, “We don’t have the funds at this point to hire an artist.”

“Besides,” added the Art Minion, “All your family and friends agreed you were the perfect artist for this project. Your personal evil style is exactly what it needs.”

With a roar the Dreaded Author snatched up the Production Minion and threw him into the others. “I don’t care! I’m an author! Not an illustrator! Out!”

They scurried through the door, while the Dreaded One sat back with a sigh and a grumble. The half-finished cat drawing eyed her back. It had a decidedly smug look on its face.

“No you don’t,” muttered the Dreaded One. “I don’t care about you. Not at all! No!”

The drawn cat smirked. “I’m just too much a challenge for the likes of you,” it whispered, blotchy whiskers and all.

With a snarl, the Dreaded One grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. “Oh, I’ll wipe the smile right off your face! On this next drawing. With you drowning in the ocean. I’ll lock you up in prison next, and then get you skewered with a sword.”

The cat at least looked properly miserable in the next few versions.

“Not bad,” the Dreaded One growled, looking them over. “But I still think I’ll stick to writing next time.”

From the Dreaded One’s Desk: Conquering the Evil Cold

Deep in the Slough of Despair the Dreaded Author had succumbed to some evil symptoms. A sore throat and stuffy nose. She moaned, rolling over in her Nest of Doom. “I have too much to do to be sick! I have sentences to cut. Characters to torture! Evil scenes to rewrite! Nanowrimo to plan for! It’s starting tomorrow. Nooooo!”

The silence was overwhelming, and the Dreaded One felt distinctly sorry for herself, abandoned by even the minions among piles of junk she was now to sick to do anything about.

“I have a suggestion,” a soft whispering voice said.

“Who are you?” The Dreaded Author said, whirling around, an action she quickly regretted and clamped a Kleenex to her runny nose.

“Let’s call me the Natural Health Minion.” The little goblin-like creature, bald-headed and bearded, like a miniture evil Dr. Weil poked its head up over the edge of the couch. “Natural Health can make you better faster. Get you back on track.”

“Okay, fine.” The Dreaded One was too desperate to question it really. And what harm could it? Everything was already terrible.

“First, a day of rest! No mental activity. Period. No writing. No potting those plants you just bought. No puzzles. And NO majong solitare on the Dreaded Husband’s computer while he’s at work!”

“But I can’t just stare into space! And I things to do!” The Dreaded One couldn’t think of a more awful suggestion.

“No work!”

“What about reading? Reading isn’t work.”

“Is so. You should sleep.”

The Dreaded One growled. “I can’t nap to save my life, and you know it. Reading in bed as as mental free as I can manage. Or possibly internet videos.”

“Internet Videos are better than reading.”

The Dreaded One privately wondered if the minion was actually interested in rotting out her brain, but wasn’t going to argue. “Fine.”

“Next! No eating. Fasting helps you get better faster.”

“What?!” roared the Dreaded One. “I hate fasting! I feel awful when I fast.”

“You already feel awful.”

The Dreaded One was stymied for an answer.

“Finally, gargle salt water. Then heat a pot of water, put a towel over your head and lean over the pot and breathe steam for ten minutes.”

That at least was finally sounding sensible. Muttering darkly the Dreaded Author got up and went do that, and felt considerable better. Not eating bothered her, but for the sake of getting well, well, it was work a try. So the she settled down in a pile of trash for reading some books and watching some stupid videos. Hours later the Dreaded One paused to realize she had a splitting headache and was starving. “For get this! I feel terrible and I’m starving!” Ignoring the protests of the lone Natural Health Minion, the Dreaded One stormed off to the store, bought a decongestant, and ate lunch.

Within minutes she was crippled by nausea. “How can I be hungry and nauseated at the same time?” moaned the Dreaded One flopping back on the couch with a Kleenex box clutched tightly in her claws. Suddenly staring at the ceiling doing nothing but not throwing up sounded like a great idea.

“Told you so.” The Natural Health minion sniggered.

The Dreaded One threw a used Kleenex at it and it scurried away. And everything blurred into a sick haze of miserableness…

Three days later the Dreaded One woke feeling reasonably well. Glancing around the dirty Kleenex-strewn Slough of Despair, she felt a sudden urge to pick things up, take a shower, and go torture some characters and get that word count up. But first, after a nice big meal. “You know, maybe this Natural Medicine thing wasn’t so bad,” she muttered, getting up, even able to breathe through her nose.

The Natural Health Minion poked its head up from behind the garbage can, just out of reach of the couch. “Which is why you need to rest another few days!”

“Bah! Forget that! I’m having lunch, and you are it!” With a snarl the Dreaded One pounced.

The Natural Health Minion ran from the slough screaming.

Grinning evilly the Dreaded One headed to the fridge. “I declair myself well! Nano here I come!”

From the Dreaded One’s Desk: Horde on the Move

The Most Evil Dreaded One dug through the pile of laundry. “Someone is going to pay for this!” She growled, throwing laundry everywhere.

The minions by the door ducked. “I’ve heard unmatched socks are all the fashion rage, your dreadfulness,” one of them suggested.

“And you could just wear your pajama pants to work,” the other one said, dodging a pair of pants.

“Next you’ll be telling me dirty underwear is trendy.” The Dreaded Author aimed, fired, and made two direct hits with a couple pairs of aforementioned clothing items.

The head transportation minion leaned into the doorway. “It’s time to go, your awfulness! We must fine the new evil lair!”

“I don’t know what’s so exciting about that,” muttered the Dreaded One. “I just moved into this parental basement four months ago.” Seizing the prize of clean underwear and two almost matching socks, the Dreaded one slammed the door on the minions.

Forty-five minutes later found the Dreaded One looking over a shabby apartment.

“As you can see, this tower apartment offers an airy living room and a great view of the park.” The rental agency minion swept a clawed hand grandly across the room.

The Dreaded One crossed her arms and glared a fiery red glare across the room. “And the bedrooms are the size of postage stamps. Next!”

“Well…” The minion waved his hand, sending them teleporting to the next one. “What about this one? It’s dark and dank, just like an evil lair should be.”

The Dreaded One creaked down the stairs to eye the half-basement bedrooms. “It’s the prisoners, not the Dark Lord who live in a dungeon! Next!”

Poof! “This one is newly renovated. Three bedrooms, huge living room, two car garage–”

“What’s that?” The Dreaded One eyed the slightly roach-shaped objects at the bottom of the toilet.

The minion flushed it. “Oh, I guess the bugs keep getting in when I keep the door open… showing this house far too much…”

The Dreaded One marched back to the kitchen, unimpressed. She peered in the sink, opened, the cupboards… nothing. Then she opened the fridge. A cockroach waved its antenna at her, slowly, probably since he was chilled. “I don’t think so!”

Many apartments later, the Dreaded One was losing her patience. “No upstairs garrets with no ventilation or air conditioning, no houses the size of a pickle jar, no kitchen linoleum that has more wrinkles than a grandmother, and no basement should smell better than the rest of the house!” The Dreaded One roared, flexing her claws.

“Fine fine.” The rental agency minion held up his hands. “You’ll just love this one!”

Poof!

The Dreaded One sniffed suspiciously. “Doesn’t it smell rather like smoke?”

“Oh, no! These older apartments just smell a bit musty.”

The Dreaded One sniffed again. “Definitely smoke.”

“That’s impossible. We–”

The Dreaded One jabbed a claw and muttered a spell. With a scream, the minion went up in flames. “Told you it was smoke.” The Dreaded One sauntered out of the apartment to the waiting hoard. “Forget agencies. We’ll pick the next best castle we see and conquer it! Muahahahaha!”

The minions scrambled after her. “Um, Your Evilness, shouldn’t we pack first?”

“Or what about the laundry?”

“Did you forget all the weapons are carefully packed up in storage?”

“We simply cannot attack until we’re moved into a new Evil Lair, Your Awfulness,” instead the Second-in-Command Minion. “It just isn’t done.”

“Fine,” the Dreaded One snarled, feeling distinctly trapped and hating moving with a passion. ” Where was that one with the view of the apartment getto out the window on one side and the parking lot on the other? We can set fire to things while we move. That should improve the view.”

Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long. The list of backlogged character in need of torture was painfully long.

From the Dreaded One’s Desk: Evil Consequences of the Writing Life

“What is this?” roared the Most Evil Dreaded one, poking the sloppy gray substance in her bowl. “I asked for breakfast, not the latest kitchen mold experiment.”

“Bran-wonder Surprise,” the serving minion said with a smirk.

“I didn’t ask for this!”

“Eh, hem.” The Second-in-command Minion (SICM for short) marched into the room. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of menu, my Dread Lord. As you were over twenty pounds overweight on your physical exam the other day, we’re instituting evil weight loss measures.”

“What?” The Dreaded One swiped the Bran-wonder Surprise off the desk with a swipe of the back of her hand. The serving minion’s swift jump backwards saved him from getting hit, but it slopped all over the SICM.

With a grunt, the SICM wiped bran cereal off his face. “I meant you must lose weight, Your Dreadfulness,” muttered the SICM. “Your doctor says–”

“Time to go gut the doctor.” The Dreaded One growled, propping her feet up on her desk. “I need to get some writing done. Hurry up with this nonsense and go remove that doctor.”

“You already did that, Your Awfulness… several times.” The SICM sighed. “Listen, you can’t just keep gutting doctors, it won’t solve the problem. If you want to succeed in world domination, you need to be in good health. That means less ice cream, more whole grains and living a more active lifestyle.”

“My muse can’t function without ice cream.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to learn to make do, Evil One. Ice cream will now be reserved for birthday parties only. The kitchen will be setting up a nutritious new diet that will help feel your muse without layering on the pounds.”

“Somehow I’m skeptical.” The Dreaded One gave the smirking serving minion a glare as he picked up the empty cereal bowl and beat a quick retreat.

“Most importantly, Evil One, you need to live a more active lifestyle, more action, less sitting.” The minion gestured at the desk and computer with his spear.

“Fiiiiine,” the Most Dreaded One snarled. “I’ll shelve my current plans and write an action scene today. Perhaps a battle or two.”

The SICM sighed. “Um, that’s not exactly what I meant, Your Awfulness.”

“Oh, I see. Right.” The Dreaded One rubbed her face with a hand. “Active, not action. Well, I’ll highlight all my be verbs and work on eliminating boring ones like look and seen as well. It’ll be a hassle but considering my health is at stake, it’ll be worth it.

“No, no.” The SICM flushed and held up a claw. “You misunderstand. You need to exercise.”

“Well why didn’t you just say so!” Snarling the Dreaded One swung her feet down from the desk, and pulled open the drawer to yank out several books. “I’ve got loads of exercises I can do. On voice, characterization, description, even plot. I’ll just make sure I slip in what… 40 minutes of exercises three days a week and–”

“Em, excuse me.” The SICM grabbed the writing exercise book off the table. “I meant physical exercise. As in: MOVING your body.”

“What?” The Dreaded One gave him a blank stare.

“Like a sport.”

“Writing is a sport.”

“An active sport.”

“I told you, I can add active verbs and more battles.”

“Listen!” The SICM slammed his spear down on top of the desk, sending papers everywhere. “You need to do something that evelvates your heartrate, moves your muscles, and challenges your body physically in order to lose weight. Nothing involving writing counts.”

The Dreaded One narrowed her eyes at the SICM, going deathly still, but he held her gaze.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” The SICM bared his fangs.

The serving minion had taken this moment to return with a plate of boiled broccoli as a breakfast alternative. It sniggered as it shoved it down on the desk. The Dreaded One glanced at the green mush, then at the minion’s gloating expression. A twitch of her tail was the only warning. The serving minion tried to spring back, but was too slow. The Dreaded One grabbed him by the throat, hauling him up.

“Um… just what do you think–” The SICM was cut off as Dreaded One grabbed him by the shirt with her other hand, lifting him off his feet and making him drop his spear with a clatter. “What are you doing?”

“Urrrgl.” The serving minion struggled scream but couldn’t manage it with the Dreaded One’s grip on his neck.

“I’ve picked a form of non-writing exercise,” snarled the Dreaded One, sweeping both minions over towards the window.

“Dare I ask what, Your Awfulness?”

“Weight lifting.” The Dreaded One hurled him out the window. “With a mind towards shot put!” she shouted before throwing the serving minion after him.

Turning around and wiping her hands off on her pants, ignoring their screams all the way down to the distant thud as they hit the ground, the Dreaded One looked around for the nearest minion cowering near the door. “You! You’re my new SICM.” She tossed the plate of broccoli at him, and he ducked, letting green goop and ceramic shards splatter across the pillar by the door. “Get that cleaned up, and bring up a big bowl of ice cream. I’ve got an active writing exercise to write.”

From the Dreaded One’s Desk — What to Write Today

The Most Evil Dreaded Author sat down at her desk. It was a bright fresh morning, with a nice cool breeze coming in over the moat of green slime, a perfect day to get some writing done. With a sigh she settled back into her comfortable chair, stretched her claws and grinned evilly, showing off her many teeth.

“All right, what’s next up on my evil author agenda?”

“I am, your dreadfulness.” The snot-nosed novella crept forward.

The Evil Author narrowed her eyes at it. “Wait a minute… aren’t you rather large to be the novella? You’re supposed to be short.”

“But I had to add some extra character development,” the novella wiped its nose on its sleeve. “You need character development, right?

“That shouldn’t make you that much longer.” The Dreaded One frowned.

“Well… but we needed some ninjas… and pirates! They’re pretty cool. And a whole extra point of view character to fix the tensions, and then—”

“Arg! Enough. Fine, so you’re longer, I’ll write you later, what else do I have around here? Guards! Next idea!”

“But your evilness… if we could just add some gladiators as well—”

“Guards!” roared the Dreaded One, drowning out the novella’s bid for even more additions. The minions hurried in to drag it out.

The next novel idea was a rather handsome looking main character with a charming grin. “Greetings, Your Evilness.” The novel gave a sweeping bow.

“Wait, who are you? I don’t remember you.” The Dreaded One rubbed her face.

“I’m your romance novel idea.” The novel beamed. “I’m charming, romantic, and I have a great happy ending!”

“I’m an evil author. I don’t do romance. I don’t even remember creating you—hardly.” The Dreaded One blushed, as the idea was starting to look familiar, actually.

“But romance is selling so well! I’m timely! Plus,” the novel idea leaned forward and winked. “I have angels and demons, knights and wizards, I’m a classic in the making!”

“I suppose…” The Dreaded One could help thinking he looked like a rather handsome idea.

“Wait!” Villain student Aun from “A School for Villains” came dashing into the room, waving a burning sword. “Do you dare! You promised to write my novel next!”

The Dreaded One narrowed her eyes at him. “Your novel? I seem to recall Danny is the main character, not you.”

“Bah. The sequel centers around me though. I’m the key character, and I’m going to get the girl. We’re evil, savvy, and have romance, so this idiot can just go jump in the moat!” Aun waved the flaming sword at the romance novel.

“I’m far more attractive than you, villain brat,” the romance novel said, drawing his own sword. “And I’m a better swordsman than you are, because I am knight!”

The two closed in on each other. The Dreaded Author took a step back to avoid getting slashed as Aun accidentally set fire to her desk. “Minions!”

The minions however, were rather slow in arriving.

“Hey, author!” A small voice behind the Dreaded One made her whirl around, cloak flapping, claws out, but at first she saw no one, then she though to look down. A small furry and bright orange troll flashed fangs at her. “My novel has readers on your critique group begging for another chapter. You should write about me!”

“I’m not sure your book is publishable,” the Dreaded One said, giving him a long look.

“But I have readers! What, you only care about money? What about art?”

“I’m evil!”

“Which means you get to do whatever you want, right?” Kest beamed up, looking far too sickeningly cute to be the Evil Author’s creation. “Like write my novel.”

“No, she wants to write my novel.” The historical fiction novel, also wielding a sword swung in through the window. I’m in final revision stages! You need to get me out to agents!”

“The author is going to write about me,” Kest growled, clawing at the historical novel. However, at the same time, the romance novel’s sword crashed down on the burning desk on the Dreaded One’s other side, breaking it in two. The Dreaded One jumped back against the windows, but was forced to side step to avoid the historical novel’s return attack on the troll.

“Guards!” bellowed the Dreaded Author.

Minions poured in, but were forced to block sword blows from the attacking novels and Kest’s claws, turning the office into a battlefield. The Dreaded One decided it was time for a strategic retreat, and so slipped out the side door.

The Marketing Minion was waiting for her. “Oh, your dreadfulness! Excellent! I just wanted to talk to you about how you’re falling off your social media campaign, and that you need to submit to some more book review blogs. We’re letting marketing fall behind this summer.”

“I want to write!” roared the Dreaded One, starting to feel a bit trapped.

“Of course, of course, just after you complete this marketing packet!” The Marketing Minion waved a large packet of papers. The Dreaded One backed up again, and right into another minion dashing through the door.

“What now!” The Dreaded One sent the poor minion flying across the room with a heavy whack.

“D-dreaded one! We’re under attack! An army of new ideas is storming the castle!”

“I see.” The Dreaded One folded her arms so no one would notice her claws shaking. “Well, get out the boiling oil and take care of them. Go on, both of you.”

The Marketing Minion grimaced. “But if you could just tweet about what you’re doing right now first…”

“Now!” roared the Dreaded One, jumping up on the windowsill. It was time to escape. She swung up, digging her claws into the stones of the Dreaded Castle, up and over the top of the tower to the roof. There, hidden between a couple of towers was the Dreaded Glider.

From the room the Evil Author also got her first good look at the invasion. Hundreds of new ideas were storming the castle. She shook her head, definitely past time to get out. The fresh morning breeze tugged at the glider as she got it out.

“Muahahahahaha!” the Dreaded One roared over their heads as she took off. The wind carried her up and over, soaring high above the army of new ideas, across the countryside, before landing in the middle of a remote swamp.

“Perfect,” muttered the Dreaded One. “Now I might be able to get something done.”

A rustling made her whirl around. Ideas popped up in camouflage all around her in the swamp, grinning. “Write us, now!”

“Aaaaaaaah!” the Dreaded One’s scream was drowned out as the new ideas dragged her below the murky waters of the swamp.

Ardyth DeBruyn

Author. Artist. Anthropologist.