Eradicating Edna

by H. Jahangiri

An unfinished novel dedicated to all writers whose

“

inner critic

”

is a bitch.

Prologue

Just so no one mistakes the Book Description for the book itself! The chapters arewaaaaaay down there.

I seriously thought about quitting.Then I recaptured the true spirit of NaNoWriMo. I remembered what it was allabout: to write a truly hideous novel of 50,000 words in 30 days."Nobody said nothin' about 'publishable.' Nobody ever suggested that a 30-daynovel should be 'great lit-rah-chure' (Gesundheit!)" my Muse snickered."What was I thinking, to put such expectations on myself at a time like this, whenall the world's gone mad around me?" I cried, throwing a forearm dramaticallyover my forehead and letting out a piteous wail."That's the spirit."My Inner Editor foamed at the mouth. Only, the foam came out the bitch's nose,since my Muse had had the foresight to bind up her mouth with duct tape."Look, you're an overachiever, but you're a burnt-out overachiever seriously indanger of looking like she's got a bug up her ass. So write this one just for fun.And if you must compete, consider it your entry into the Bulwer-Lytton fictioncontest next year." The Muse shrugged."That's just supposed to be one sentence," I said. I was pouting. I had my heartset on writing great lit-rah-chure."So write a novel that gives you nothing but hard choices as to which sentenceyou should enter.""There are multiple categories," I said, warming to the idea. "I could have 'em allcovered, by the time I'm done.""There you go. Enter in every category. Just be sure to win a 'DishonorableMention' for me."

"I'll do it!" I sprang to my feet, energized. It took less than a NaNoSecond forreality to sink in. "Oh, God, I'm so far behind. All I have so far is three deathscenes and an aborted suicide."You can imagine the withering look my Muse gave me."I know that, Dear. It's pretty fucking pathetic, if you ask me." She picked up mydaughter's TI-83 calculator and pushed some buttons at random. "Don't think of itas 'behind.' Think of it as an adjustment, from 1667 words a day to 2800 words aday. You can do that, can't you? I mean...if you're enjoying yourself.""Can I use this conversation?" I asked. I was reluctant to admit it; it seemedso...puerile. But I was beginning to enjoy myself. Guilty pleasures are always thebest kind."No.""Will you take that thing away?" I asked, pointing at the Inner Editor. The IEgrowled and struggled against the ropes that bound her to her ergonomically-correct office chair. Gleefully, I smacked her over the head with an ergonomickeyboard, breaking the device in two. I dumped it into her lap."Absolutely." My Muse poured two glasses of cheap cream sherry and we raisedthem in a toast. "To fingering Bulwer-Lytton's proboscis in April!""Here, here.""Isn't that 'hear, hear'?" squeaked the Inner Editor, who had managed to bitethrough the duct tape with her jagged fangs."Good God. Does 'anal-retentive' have a hyphen?" sneered my Muse. GrabbingShe-Who-Inspires-Writers-to-Write-Heinous-Scenes-of-Gruesome-Torture by theneck, my Muse saluted me and disappeared. The Evil One vanished, too, and Icould breathe again.