[Introduction: Melanie Stormm continues her humorous series of posts about the misdirected emails she’s been getting. Stormm is a multiracial writer who writes fiction, poetry, and audio theatre. Her novella, Last Poet of Wyrld’s End is available through Candlemark & Gleam. She is currently the editor at the SPECk, a monthly publication on speculative poetry by the SFPA.]

THE CRIPPLING FLAMES OF SUCCESS

Hello, All! Melanie here. 

It’s been a busy few weeks for our friends in Cradensburg, NH!

Thanks to a charm offensive involving a truckload of hot pink stabilizer balls, Tryxy the demon (and lead songwriter of the music duo Demonkitty) finally has the opportunity to fulfill his musical dream of playing at a grand opening of the sushi counter in the local grocery. The only trouble is, now that he’s got the gig, he’s acting strangely.

Meanwhile, X is pursuing her dream of becoming the “next big epic fantasy writer of all time” by forgoing writing. Instead, she’s furthering her writing career by focusing on self-care. Namely, X wants to dismantle her internalized fat phobia. She’s doing this about as well as the rest of us: through cycles of stress eating and self-loathing.

This is to say that we manage to be our own stumbling block in pursuing individual happiness.

Without further ado…

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Subject: Watch out for the stumbling block, Gladuys!!!!!!!!

Dear Gladys,

I need you to come over to my house write away and evaluate Tryxy. Since I booked his gig for the grand opening of Mr. Morgan’s new and newly rebuilt sushi counter, I think…well, I think Tryxy has turned into a writer. I don’t know how else to explain the strangeness of his behavior!!!!!

Your cousin Blanche says you’ve been busy rebuilding your house that burnt down New Year’s Day, but I told her you could probably squeeze in the time to drop everything and come over with some emergency raspberry whoopie pies and AS MANY HAZMAT SUITS AS YOU CAN SPARE.

My diet is doing fine. Why do you ask?

The only thing is that you need to watch out for the new stumbling block by my front door. It’s gotten everyone lately; the mailman, the process server, the mailman again, Tryxy, me, a free-range neighborhood chicken, Mr. Morgan, basically EVERYBODY.

I would remove the stumbling block, but with Demonkitty’s BIG SHOW in just eight days, I need all of my attention on figuring out what’s going on with Tryxy. I have to help him turn back from being A WRITER!!!!!

Hold me, Galdsy, I’m scared I may be too late!!!!!!! Will write again soon!!!!!

xox,

X

P.S. Really need those hazmat suits!!!! Can you make mine pink?????

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Subject: What does this look like to you?????

Dear Gladys,

I’m afraid that living with two writers has caused Tryxy to become infected with our disease. With just five days left until his show at Mr. Morgan’s, he SHOULD be devoting all his time to practicing but he hasn’t gone ANYWHERE NEAR his drum kit.

The last three days he’s spent most of his time doing the following:

1.) He’s taken up Extreme Canning as a hobby. If you’re not familiar with Extreme Canning, it’s when you try to fill your basement with a pickled version of at least one of every food group. Our kitchen is a disaster.

2.) He told me he was going to practice all yesterday afternoon, but when I checked on him, he had downloaded that new Quaint Cabbage Farmer™ game and spent most of the evening watering digital cabbages on his homestead while Golden Girls played in the background. When I asked him about practicing he said, “I’m sure it’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s all fine. This is fine. Practicing. Yes. It’s fine. It’s not like I’ll have an audience.”

3.) When he isn’t canning or playing Quaint Cabbage Farmer™, I’ve found him crying in the bathroom as he watches Lil Nas X’s latest video and saying that “he’ll never measure up.”

The worst happened just this morning. As I’m sure I mentioned WHEN I ASKED FOR THE HAZMAT SUITS, a sentient black mold named Bruce has moved into our breezeway. This has made getting the mail very complicated as Bruce is aggressive and tries to poke us with a stick whenever we pass. As you know, Tryxy isn’t very fond of doing housework that requires being in an unheated room like the breezeway, but as soon as he heard that Bruce poked the mail carrier in the eye, his face lit up and he volunteered to singlehandedly eradicate BRuce.

My boyfriend, award nominated fantasy writer Tod Boadkins, and I looked on in horror as Tryxy merrily donned rubber gloves and took up a flame thrower and skipped out into the freezing cold breezeway.

As the roar of flames and Bruce’s screams filled the air, my boyfriend whispered to me: “My god, he has one job: practice. But he will do literally ANYTHING else but that. I’ve never seen anyone who isn’t a writer task avoid and procrastinate so fast and so hard. Do you think we’ve…infected him somehow?? I feel like this is somehow our fault.”

I don’t know what to do, Glayds!!!!  

How am I supposed to get any writing done when I can be worrying about whether I’ve infected Tryxy with my task avoidance????!!!!!

Pages next week, Gladys!!!

xox,

X

THIS IS
ALL
FINE.
I HAVE
PICKLED
EGGS,
PICKLED
JALAPEÑOS,
PICKLED
PICKLES,
PICKLED
BRUCE.
IT’S
FINE. IT’S
NOT LIKE
THERE WILL
BE AN
AUDIENCE.