Evil Editor's Blog, page 439

Cartoon 407

Caption: Evil Editor

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Writing Exercise Results . . .

. . . are in the posts below. The task was to write a scene in which Evil Editor has his annual psychiatric therapy session.

Therapy Session 8

Doctor Rosenberg had evidently decided to take her morning constitutional by sprinting down the back stairs just before our scheduled appointment. It was lucky that the cab had dropped me off on that side of the building, though she was curiously reluctant to chat until we arrived at her office.

“Well,” she said, as she reached for her notebook. “How are you feeling?” Doctor Rosenberg always started with the difficult questions.

“You remember last time? I said I felt like I was the lead character

Therapy Session 7

" . . . and as I've told you before, one therapy session a year isn't going to do a whole lot of good. The point of these sessions is defeated if we can't maintain a regular--"

"Yeah, yeah, look--"

"Our goal is healing, growth, and transformation. Do you honestly believe one session a year can accomplish any of that? Common sense should tell you--"

"Listen, we had this discussion last year. And the fact remains, I couldn't bear to spend more than one hour a year in your presence, EE."

"If you're try

Therapy Session 6

Evil Editor fidgeted on the couch. He jumped to his feet as the door creaked open. "Where's my regular psychiatrist?"

The man in the white jacket said, "Dr. Jolie's flight back from Hawaii was delayed; I'm Dr. Faust and I'm handling her appointments. If you'd prefer to reschedule, she has an opening in 12 months."

"You're not a writer?"

Faust paused by the open door. "No."

"You don't have any friends who are writers?"

"Not that they've mentioned."

"It's just that ... I can't get rid of them." Evil lay

Therapy Session 5

“Let’s talk about my mother.”

EE looked at the orange-haired woman. “But—”

“I know, you’re paying and you came for help and I’m not your usual psychiatrist and all that. Look, you’re an editor, and I’ll pay you.”

“But I’ve got problems.”

“So does she.” The woman pointed to EE’s usual psychiatrist, who was tied and gagged in the corner. EE bolted for the door, but the woman got there first. “Look, Mr. Editor,” she purred, her gun out, “help me out and I’ll let you two go. Savvy?”

With the gun aim

Therapy Session 4

She looked around, surveyed the serene room; lush yet tidy. Dense-piled beige and black pillows had been punched and arranged on the long sofa, and on her chair that wasn’t a chair at all, but an extensionof the sofa in the form of a tight turn, an elegant elongation barely forming the bottom of the letter L.

The lights were low. Her Moleskine was at hand. She was ready for him, or she thought she was, anyway, until he walked his blue eyes, along with the rest of him, on into the room.

“Doctor,

Therapy Session 3

Doc: Thanks for waiting. I'm Dr. Ann Chapman.

EE: Call me Ishmael.

Doc: Uhhhh... yes. Well, EE, if you'd like to lie down...

EE: Too cliché, too predictable.

Doc: Excuse me? Ah, yes. I understand from Dr. Fisher that this problem has been dogging you for quite some time. Apparently you are having trouble 'turning off' after work...

EE: Too much exposition. No hook.

Doc: (irritated) Let's try a different tactic. Tell me about your childhood.

EE: In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me

Therapy Session 2

As EE opened the door, sweltering heat carried the smell of rotting flesh and excrement out of the psychiatrist's office. The three Gorges Dam would not have stopped EE's stomach. Doctor Passengi stood in the middle of the room vacuuming up flies with a purple Dyson. Trays of wiggling Day-Glo colored maggots filled the waiting room. He handed EE a bag.

"Use this. I can't stand the smell of upchuck. Close that door, maggots hate cold. I wanted to tell you personally, this is our last session."

"I'm

Therapy Session 1

"Dr. Rosenberg? Dr. Cherry Rosenberg?"

The grey-haired, haggard woman put a trembling hand to her brow. "Yes ... I know you? ... You've ... been here before ... ?"

"A year ago," said EE. "You cancelled our next session - "

"A year ... yes ... that must be right." Her lips twitched in a sort of smile. "I've ... been unwell. For ... eleven months? Something like that ... "

She picked up a folder from her desk. "Let me see ... I have your notes here ... "

EE sat down. He watched her turn the pages.

"Yes,