Brainstorm

Scene One: Int. Home Office- Night

A young writer sits alone at his desk, trying to figure out how to proceed with the manuscript before him. He sits hunched over the desk, pencil in hand, and points at the pages, willing the words to come out without success. He slumps back against his chair in defeat.

The Writer: Come on. You’ve got the ideas in there, brain. I know you do. Cough ’em up so I can write something here!

Suddenly, the camera zooms in on the writer’s face and enters his right eye. We travel along the optic nerve, eventually arriving in the brain where hundreds of synapses are firing electrical charges into one another, sending the signals the writer receives from his various nerves along at a fast pace. The camera continues to zoom in on a single nerve cell, settling on a man sitting at a control panel, wearing a suit and smoking a cigar. This man is the writer’s Inner Critic, proofreading the papers containing the writer’s ideas before they are approved for the writer to put to paper. He is not impressed with what he sees.

Inner Critic: Oh, terrific! As if we don’t have enough dragons and demons flying around, now you want to throw in Cthulhu too? It’s just too much, man!

He opens a slot and pushes the papers through it.

Inner Critic (yelling into the slot): Send those ideas back to HQ! Tell ’em they’re not ready for the pen yet!

The Inner Critic leans back in his chair, satisfied with the day’s work. He puffs on the cigar and pours himself a glass of champagne.

Inner Critic: Ah, don’t worry, kid. One of these days, you’ll get it right.

Female Voice: You may be right, but he sure as hell isn’t going to get anywhere with you calling the shots!

Startled, the Inner Critic spits out his drink and leaps to his feet. He is greeted with the sight of a woman with short, curled black hair wearing an Ancient Greek-style toga and a golden tiara carrying a writing tablet and stylus in her right arm. The woman is Calliope, the Greek muse of epic poetry.

Inner Critic: Goddammit, Calliope! How many times have I told you to use the friggin’ door?!

Calliope: Never mind that, Critic! This has to stop!

Inner Critic: Oh, for God’s sake, don’t give me that “He should be free to express his artistry” speech again. I’m telling you, he’s not ready!

Calliope: If not now, then when?!

Inner Critic: When he finally gives me something I can work with here!

Calliope: Come on, be honest. You’re just doing this because the guys in the superego department are breathing down your neck.

Inner Critic: Hey, their opinion is important. They know how the artistic tastes of society as a whole work, so they correct his work accordingly.

Calliope: But what if he has some good ideas that don’t align with society’s tastes?

Inner Critic: You would say that. You’re all chummy with the id department.

Calliope: Hey, they’re important too! They’re the ones who help him bring his ideas to life in the first place.

Inner Critic: Yeah, but they act entirely on impulse. Ergo, they suck at it!

Calliope: Well, it’s better than all the superego guys saying that all clichés are bad simply because they’re clichés. They don’t understand how art works.

The Inner Critic sits back in his chair and lights another cigar as he continues talking.

Inner Critic: Come on, Calliope. You’re acting like I’ve never let him do anything with his talents. What about all those short stories he wrote in college?

Calliope: We both know he just yanked them out of your hands because he had deadlines to reach.

Inner Critic: Exactly. He didn’t give me enough time to review them, and that’s why they all sucked.

Calliope: His professors didn’t seem to think so.

Inner Critic:

Look, I think we both know where the problem lies here. It’s not with you or me. It’s with him. He’s too shy to seek help. If he would open up and seek help from someone, I could maybe pick up some pointers on how to get better at my job.

Calliope: So you’re admitting you suck at it, then?

Inner Critic: I am not! I’m just...in need of some guidance, is all.

Calliope: We both know where to go when the id and superego departments get deadlocked on something; the ego department.

Calliope waves her stylus like a magic wand as she starts to teleport herself and the Inner Critic to the ego department. The Inner Critic leaps out of his chair and tries to protest.

Inner Critic: Calliope, wait! I still might have some ideas to review!

Calliope: He’s going to bed anyway. We have all night to do this.

Inner Critic: Oh, shit on me.

The control room lies empty as the Critic and Calliope leave to take their quarrel up with their superiors.

Scene Two: Int. Home Office-Night

The Writer: Ah well, tomorrow’s another day.

He turns off the desk lamp and heads off to bed.

Scene Three: Office at Ego Department

Back inside the writer’s brain, a bureaucrat for the ego department is packing his stuff into a suitcase and getting ready to go home for the night. Suddenly, his phone rings.

Bureaucrat: What is it now, Brenda?

Brenda (OS): Yeah, it’s Calliope and the Critic again, sir? Should I send them in?

Bureaucrat (muttering to himself): Dammit, not those two again. (into the phone) Alright, send them in.

The Critic and Calliope enter the room and take their seats in front of the bureaucrat’s desk.

Bureaucrat: Alright, you two. I was hoping I could turn it in for the night, seeing as how the brain’s gone into sleep mode. But apparently, your newest spat couldn’t wait till morning. Give me one good reason why it shouldn’t.

Calliope: Sir, this whole situation is getting ridiculous!

Bureaucrat (under his breath): Ain’t that the truth?

Calliope (gesturing toward the Critic): This man has got to stop holding our host back. The poor man is struggling hard enough as it is.

Inner Critic: Sir, if you would review our host’s ideas, you would realize that Calliope here is being completely unreasonable with her demands!

Bureaucrat: Alright, listen to me, guys. I think both of you are just as sick and tired of this little feud as I am. So why don’t you stop pointing fingers here and maybe look at the root of this problem? Our host is introverted, so he tends to keep to himself and not seek help from others, even when it would be in his best interest to do so. On top of that, he has self-esteem issues, making it hard to accept criticism. He can’t take the bad because it convinces him that he’s got no skills, and because he’s convinced that he’s got no skills, he assumes everyone who gives him positive feedback is lying to him. That’s why the Critic here is so hard on him.

The Critic pulls out a cigar and mulls over the bureaucrat’s words.

Inner Critic: Well, gee, when you put it like that...

Bureaucrat: How many times do I have to tell you, Critic? No smoking in the building.

The Critic grumbles to himself as he pockets the cigar.

Calliope: Well, we’ve got to make him come out of his shell somehow.

Bureaucrat: Exactly.

Inner Critic: And just how in the hell are we going to do that?

Bureaucrat: My idea was to hook him up with someone who knows what they’re doing much better than he does. Maybe someone of the... manic pixie variety?

Inner Critic: Whoa! Whoa! Hang on there, sir! Are you suggesting we try to get him a girlfriend?

Bureaucrat: Why not?

Inner Critic: Look, sir, I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet.

Bureaucrat: Maybe not, but you’ve got to admit. There’s nothing quite like a woman’s love to get a man to bare his soul to the world.

The Critic and Calliope give concerned looks to one another, then shrug, as they have no better ideas to offer.

Calliope: Well, I guess it’s worth a shot.

Bureaucrat: Good. If that’s all you have for me, then for God’s sake, let’s all get some sleep!

Scene Four: Ext. Outside Publisher’s Office- Several Months Later

The writer and his girlfriend stand outside the headquarters of a small independent publishing company. The writer looks hesitant.

The Writer: I don’t know, Misty. I have a bad feeling about this.

Misty: Since when did you have a good feeling about anything? They said they liked the sample chapter you sent them. Come on, it’ll be fine.

Meanwhile, back in the writer’s brain, the Critic and Calliope sit at the control panel in the former’s office.

Inner Critic: Are you sure we should do this?

Calliope: We have to try, Critic.

After some hesitation, the Critic picks up a microphone and finally gives the order.

Inner Critic: Alright, guys. Send him in.

FADE TO BLACK

Author’s Commentary

This piece is definitely the most autobiographical one I’ve done so far. The writer portrayed here is pretty much me, with all my inner struggles laid bare. However, my problems don’t just stem from introversion. I’m on the autism spectrum, remember; that basically equates to introversion on steroids. Indeed, when I first wrote this in that college screenwriting class, the writer was also on the spectrum, but the professor suggested I cut that element as she felt it unnecessary. Indeed, non-autistic people can be introverts, too, so I think she made the right call there.

It's kind of funny to me how one of my more comedic pieces comes from... a pretty dark place, psychologically speaking. I live a pretty lonely existence. I stay cooped up at home most of the time when I'm not at work (even before COVID hit), and I don't talk with anyone much, not even my parents. This is mainly because they're Trump supporters, and I haven't been able to work up the courage to tell them that the Trump administration destroyed any sense of patriotism I once had for this country. As I mentioned on the main page, that's a big reason why I joined this site and places like Twitter and WordPress... so I can speak out in a place where I feel comfortable doing so.

And with that depressing note out of the way, let me know what you think about this story. Did you relate more with Calliope here, or do you think the inner critic should have withheld it from public view? Let me know in the comments.