Beware the Ink Blots

Again and again, the quill is dipped into the inkwell, scrawling frantically across the page. Whole worlds rise up from the glistening ink, and you know you’re onto something. You know that this story will—

You stop.

Something’s come up: You can’t figure out the next step. Or it’s a call from a friend. A notification on Facebook. You really need a sandwich.

The quill hovers over the page, the ink poised, ready. That little black dot is holding all the potential, the rest of your imagined worlds. The ink is begging you to finish the story, to let it become a part of something amazing.

But you don’t. It drips uselessly to the page.

There will be other stories, you tell yourself. You will finish the next one. But what you don’t know is what happens to that little blot of ink. You’ve given it life, but you have denied it its story.

It rises off the page, angry, frustrated, cursing the name of the author, that terrible group who so carelessly discards potential, who cares more for sandwiches than literary masterpieces. “To hell with them!” screams the blot.

The little guy sets out, finding other frustrated would-be stories, hundreds of blots banned together, little hammers and saws adorning their ink arms. They will destroy writers, they declare, prevent any other blots from being born. For how cruel to let other unfinished stories manifest into this half-life?

But what can be done? Should the writer defend himself? Armed with dirty rags and acetone?

NO!

Sure, they’re angry (look at those eyebrows). Sure, they carry small weapons. Sure, they say mean things to us (especially that thing about my mother. Low blow).

But at their core, they just want to be loved—by their creator, by wonderful readers. They want to become the story their authors once promised.

TBL has made it our mission to help them. Against our lawyer’s advice, we’ve opened our doors to these critters. If it’s the last thing we do (and it might be), we are going to help each and every blot become something amazing.

But we can’t do it alone.

Help us help the blots! Help us unearth great stories! Please, we beg you, help us before these little guys destroy our office (you think that saw is small, but five of them have been attacking my office chair for the last week, and it’s not holding up well).