The Unfettered Critic – December 2022/January 2023

Being that we’re comfortably relaxed into the gentle flow of Jacksonville living, the most pressing responsibility we encounter each month is the content of this column. “What the heck should we write about this time,” one of us will start. “We could take in a movie,” comes an oft-repeated thought. Or, “Maybe something about music,” murmuring another old standard.

Seldom is this a scintillating conversation.

But this month, as we trudged along the well-worn path linking our minds, we found ourselves interrupted. “Why don’t you ask me?” a voice seemed to whine.

It was very disconcerting.

“Who,” we finally asked, “are you?”

“I’m The Column you’re talking about,” the voice answered. “Why don’t you ever ask me what I WANT to be about?”

“We didn’t know you cared,” we said (perhaps a bit too sarcastically). “After all, you’re our column.”

“Wouldn’t you like to think so,” it responded. “Well then, go ahead. Think of something fresh and start writing. I’ll just wait over here until you’re finished.”

At which point, Dear Reader, our minds blanked. Nothing came. Tumbleweeds blew. Crickets decresendoed into silence. Darkness fell. Staring into the void, we finally called out . . .

“Hello? Are you still there?”

“Of course,” said the interloper, sounding a bit miffed. “Whad’ya think. We’ve got a deadline, you know.”

Needless to say, we caught the emphasis on “we.”

“So,” the two of us responded, capitulating fully. “What do you want to be about?”

“I want to be clever.”

“We know that. And we always aim for clever. But sometimes it’s . . . difficult.”

“And I want all of the accoutrements of good writing, like allegory, and metaphor, and irony.”

“You mean . . . you want to be . . . Shakespearian.”

“Ay. So get thee hence!”

Right. Like it’s that easy. We can come up with character, and location, and wardrobe, and makeup, and even describe pretty pictures, but what’s the plot? What’s the nugget at the center? What’s it all about, Alfie?

It’s hard out here for columnists. Our publisher allots us six hundred words per issue. That’s not a lot—until you get into the middle and don’t know where to go next. Like now. So we queried our demanding partner.

“I already told you—I want to be clever.”

That’s when we realized that it didn’t have any ideas either.

“Okay,” we responded, suspecting we were standing on sinking ground.” How’s this for clever: ‘Imagine an imaginary menagerie manager imagining managing an imaginary menagerie.’ Does that work for you?”

“Yeah. I like it. It sounds like me.”

“Right. But what’s it about? We still haven’t come up with a subject, and your dreaded deadline will soon be upon us. You have to be six hundred words in length, and at the end of this paragraph you’ll be four hundred and eighty-two. What do you want to say with the next hundred and eighteen?”

“I do have several ideas,” the encroacher said with apparent satisfaction, “but it’s rather difficult to put them into words.”

“That’s what we’ve been saying from the beginning!” we yelled. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“By the way,” the voice continued, obviously not paying attention. “There’s a fourth participant in this exercise. It’s the entity that reads what you’ve written. I think we should give The Reader the final word.”

“That’s a great idea,” we realized. “We’ve written about the people we hope are reading, but have never invited them in before.”

And so, Dear Reader, as our loyal participant, we relinquish the six-hundredth word to you. Please remember to be clever.

“___________.”

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