Bill and Kermit’s Secret Affair

Is messing up my writing process.

I was fast asleep when I heard some funny noises coming from my writing table. Now just to set the scene, I must explain that I need at least a semblance of order at my writing table to make up for the chaos in my mind.

And also because I have a left-brain that is orderly, logical, and systematic. She likes to make to-do or to-write lists and check things off — hopefully after they’re done, not before.

But I have a right-brain. She’s wildly imaginative, or at least wildly imagines she is. As well as playful, childlike, childish at times, goofy, and silly.

Sometimes what happens is, the right brain gets to make the first draft of my story. Make that shitty first draft in the Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird, meaning of the word, not literally excrement.

Then my left brain comes along and gets to edit the damn thing, or at least try to make sense of it, whip it into shape, or cut half of it out and send it back to the right side for another take.

Sometimes it’s a back and forth tango, that gets so passionate, expletives are known to be hurled across the room. And sometimes small projectile objects, like pens and water bottles.

Enter Bill and Kermit

Obviously, this volatile situation needs some law and order. Or at least a semblance thereof. So since I am a visual person, I have Mr. William Shakespeare up on the bookcase to the left of my writing table. He peers down at my feeble attempts from on high but rolls up his sleeves when it comes time to edit.

On the right-hand side of my table, atop a closed basket of office supplies, Kermit holds court. He encourages my rough, rough drafts, and laughs at me when I feel the cockiest.

Ever playful, I’m reminded by his laugh not to get too precious with myself and my creations. When I’m tempted to quit altogether, he consoles me with songs like the Rainbow Connection.

So you see how important it is they stay on their sides of my world and do their entrusted jobs. And how, when I heard that rustling sound I had to arise and attend to it.

There before my foggy eyes were Kermit and Bill in the position you see in the photo I snapped on the spot. There they were in each other’s arms quite amorous, shall we say.

Now I wasn’t objecting to the love-making per se.

I am quite tolerant in my views, and whatever two consenting stuffed animals or dolls agree to do is fine with me. So it wasn’ that.

It was the flagrant disregard of my left and right-sided roles for my two muses. If I tolerate this mish-mosh, what will become of my writing process? Will my musings be imaginative? Will my editing be remotely helpful?

What if Bill thinks he can preside over my first drafts? And I find myself only able to write in Iambic pentameter with an aabb rhyme scheme when I’m trying to create a personal essay about how much I’m craving bacon during lockdown?

Well, come to think of it, that could be hilarious. But here’s the rub. Kermit would have to edit it. And he doesn’t know jack-shit about iambic nothing. And even worse, he doesn’t care. His spelling is atrocious, and he thinks Oxford commas are a type of shoe. He is a snazzy dresser, at least in his films.

So, no personal offense guys, but you’re going back on your respective sides of my desk until further notice. Or until the lockdown is over, and I am away from home for extended periods of time.

Then you can have at it, help yourselves, go for it, Dudes. Just remember to be safe, wear masks, use condoms, and the hand sanitizer pump is right there on the desk.

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times.