Writing With An Irritable IE

I found a cookie on my writing desk today.  I thought that was plenty odd and I don’t particularly care for cookies.

So, I threw it away.

The end.


My Internal Editor peeked over my shoulder. “What do you mean ‘The End’? You’re going to leave that mystery unexplained and all possible subplots unexplored”

“What? It’s a short short.”

“No such thing in my book of story templates. Dig deeper. Mine the possibilities!”

“I don’t want to. I just want to leave it as is.”


“It’s funny.”

“No. It’s not.”

“It’s unexpected.”

“No. It’s lazy.”

“It is not lazy! It’s cute and spunky and—”


“Well. Tough on you. You can’t make me write it. I am the writer. I can do whatever I want with my story. I can—”

“You can do whatever you want, but in the end you must listen to me. I am your Internal Editor. My words are wise and always right.”

“Not this time. I’m leaving it as is.”

“Think about the different possibilities. There’s so many of them. Romance. Science fiction. Detective story. Murder mystery.”

“Or just a cute short short.”

He pushed his thin European glasses up his nose. “A short short that no one will remember today, tomorrow, or ever. There’s nothing remarkable in those 29 words.”

I sighed. “Look. If this is you being miffy about your vast supply of Reeses running out, well. That’s not my fault.”

“You’re supposed to keep me well supplied.”

“You have an addiction.”

He shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “Expand this story and I might forgive you  this time.”

*sigh* “Fine.”

“And be sure to buy 59 bags of Reeses when you go shopping later.”

*sigh*  *sigh*  “I will.”

“And buy 59 more when you go shopping tomorrow.”

“You really do have an addiction.”

“You want to keep me happy, right?”

“Right. Let’s get this story started.”



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