[Intro: rollicking saloon piano, foot stomps, a glass clinks] [Verse 1] I brought my chapter, forty pages, bled out on the screen, the bravest thing I've ever written, raw and mean and clean. A fella in a scarf leaned in, and stroked his little chin: [mock pompous voice] "I didn't read it all, of course, but where's the voice within?" [Chorus: full band, claps on the beat] Oh, they're Red Pen Royalty, the critics of the round, they've never finished anything, but boy, they've got the sound! They'll tell you "show, don't tell" while telling you for twenty-five, the only plot they've ever built's their own, and it's not alive! [Verse 2] There's Lady Theme-and-Symbol, with her tea and paper cup, she found a hidden metaphor I never once dreamed up. She says my vampire's capitalism, the moon is patriarchy. [spoken, deadpan] Ma'am, she bites a guy in Tucson. That's the plot. It's not that arty. [Instrumental: honky-tonk piano break, tuba and banjo] [Verse 3] Then the Rules Man stands to lecture, with his PDF of laws: [mock stern voice] "No adverbs! Never 'said'! And prologues are a fatal flaw!" I asked him what he's working on, he cleared his throat and froze: [mock nervous voice] "A trilogy, in outline, since two thousand and eleven... prose." [Chorus: full band, claps on the beat] Oh, they're Red Pen Royalty, the critics of the round, they've never finished anything, but boy, they've got the sound! They'll tell you "show, don't tell" while telling you for twenty-five, the only plot they've ever built's their own, and it's not alive! [Bridge: slow, dramatic, one spotlight, piano alone, rubato] And when a writer doesn't show, their seat an empty space, they hold a trial in the thread, right there, in his place. The rule book grows another page, the gavel and the glare, the story sits, unread, alone... but boy, the drama's there. [Final Chorus: key change up, everybody stomps, the whole room sings along] So here's to Red Pen Royalty, long may their scarves unfurl, they'll fix your comma splices while they fail to fix their world! I'll take my bleeding pages home, I'll write the next one too. The only critic I still trust is the reader who reads it through! [Outro: big stomping piano finish, one last glass clink, applause]
