Showier Prose

Prairie Fires and Faerie Pyres, Part 1

I had let The Road Less Traveled project out of its tidy box. It sprawled over my desk. Notes were taped to the hutch of my desk. The eight pages of actual text, already three pages too long, swelled to 32 pages, spackled with run-on strike throughs, arguments conducted in the annotations, random usage of font, size, bold and italic, and different pastel shading for each entry from each person involved. My client’s comments were cast in the color of bile.

The pages were heaped into several piles. I had little room to work.

Still, I was focused and scribbled a series of fresh sentences long-hand into my Moleskine.

“You’re up early.” Dee said, standing in the doorway wearing her morning robe draped open. “I don’t have to go to work until later.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Whatever.” I hadn’t looked up for a second glance. I continued to wield my red Paper Mate flair against writing that included:

Our problem is self inflicted. Some of us:

- Show initiative far below capabilities,
- Have very little independent action,
- Are unawares of latest goings on in the industry, and
- Do not keep commitments.

My client refused my revision because it was too short:

We are lazy and unreliable.

Somehow, that text was not damning enough. It was easy to detail harsher criticism. There were many to chose from. I think I will try:

We insult our clients with our ignorance, indolence and unreliability.

I’d rather write that he is stupid, lazy, and erratic. But my client likes showier prose.

After several more minutes of vicious editing, I put my pen down and walked to the kitchen looking for Dee.

… continued