POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE
Picture a girl covered in filthy rags and smudges of dirt on her face. We don’t know if she’s beautiful or not because of the stringy hair that covers her eyes and the spots of dirt and ash on her cheeks. This is our story’s first draft, like when you are in a hurry to get supper cooked and ingredients and silverware seem to land all over the kitchen.
Now you take a warm wet wash cloth and wash your girl’s face. You brush and arrange her hair. Then you take the dirty rags she wears and burn them, handing her a fine ball gown that glistens and sparkles and heralds perfection. You dress her in that gown and step back and say, “What a perfect beauty I have created!”
Of course, the metaphor is easy to see. You have edited and re-edited and re-edited your story and brought it to the closest thing to perfection you have ever read. And you’re bursting with pride.
So the next thing you do with your beautiful perfect princess-like girl is shove her in a closet and lock the door. This is what happens when you suffer from submitaphobia.
The only cure for such a disease is to remove the –aphobia and send your darling out to the ball. She will never meet the prince locked in the closet.
Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.