Conversations with Snot… (a start)

I look at the tiny monster sitting on my desk before, his eyes glowing red, his green skin, scaly and patchy.  He has a snout which is cracked in the middle by a wide smile hiding a row of tiny sharp teeth.  He is my creation, something I created in High School. 

(Nice start though  I am not sure you really described me well enough.  My eyes are my best attribute, the ladies go crazy for my wide eyes.)

(This is a blog you know.  I can’t waste the readers time with details like that.  It is recommended that you should make your blog something that reads like a newspaper article, not a story.)

(Who suggests that?)

(Bloggers.)

(Figures!)

The tiny monster’s name is Snot, a name meant to be as foul and disgusting as possible.  Monster’s have nasty names after all.  If they had pretty names, they would not be as foul as you would think.

(That’s not true.  You are just shooting from the hip.  You are talking about things you just know nothing about.)

(What?)

(Not all monsters have disgusting names.  For example, I think the name “siren” is particularly pretty.)

(Siren?)

(Yes.  Pandora is not such ugly name either.)

(Pandora is not a monster.)

(She is.  She released havoc and evil upon the world.  Sounds like a monster to me.)

I struggle with the disagreeable fiend, arguing over minor details, ignoring the story.  That was the terror that Snot brought to the table, he was disagreeable to the point of distracting you from what you were trying to do.

(I am not stopping you from doing anything.  If anything, you are allowing me to distract you.  You are pointing the words in my mouth are you not.  You could simply write me out of the story.  Perhaps, a traveling woodsman could shop me down in my prime. It is up to you.)

(The problem with that is that you are the protagonist, the hero, of my story.  I am dependent on you.  And even though I created you, with each word I write, I am defining you, your nature.  The more I write, the more difficult it is to do something with you.  To change you to something more agreeable.)

The monster looks at me puzzled and then nods at me approvingly.  I nod back.  I do not wish to change him.  I am merely bringing forth his essence on the page.  I desire that he, Snot, exist separately from me and become his own.  I wish to speak his words not him speak mine. 

(Your words are cheap.  You have bought them at a premium but they do not work for you.  Your words are hollow.  You are a panderer and not a very good one at that.)

(What did I do to deserve that?)

(Its true.  Besides, look how you described me.)

(You are what you are.)

(So are you.)

The truth hurts, especially when it comes from the voices within. 

(So true.  So true.)

(Perhaps the whole monster thing was uncalled for.  I mean their are plenty people who look less like you and more like who are more monster-like than you ever thought of being.)

(I would agree with that.  Yet, I might be careful how you fling that word around so hard.  Monsters are all about perspective.)

(How do you mean?)

(I am only a monster, as you say, because you are threatened of me, of what I am capable of doing or what I have done.  I have sharp teeth after all and diseased skin.)

(You are a monster because you look like a monster.) 

(Do you know if I have eaten anyone?)

(Actually, I do know.  You haven’t.)

(Is a monster all about what you look like?)

(Not exactly.)

I began to see Snot’s point.  By calling him a monster perhaps I am giving him characteristics he doesn’t have.  Like calling someone an Asian, Woman, Child, and so one.  By using such words, I do injustice to the person.

(Human.  You have found more truth.) 

I look at the monster sitting on my desk.  He makes a passing comment which I must take note of.

(You will need to edit this blog.)

(I will.)