This is Scroll II in a series. Discover the first scroll here.
Click here for a plain English guide to the marketing terms in this fantasy blog.
Hamlet, a Helpful Village
You’ve washed up in Clarity Cove on the shores of Freelancia. You walk towards the lights of a distant settlement. Here in the small village of Hamlet, friendly locals provide you with fresh clothes, food and a bed for the night.
The next day, you ask about Ogilvy. They direct you to the village gossip, Chinwaggin’ Maggie at Cliché Cottage.
A middle-aged witchy woman with yellow teeth greets you enthusiastically and invites you inside. She offers you a cup of tea, which she promptly spills all over you.
“Terribly sorry, dearie.” She mops tea off your lap with a dirty rag. A chihuahua laps more tea up off the floor, in between yaps.
“No worries!” you mutter. “So, would you be able to tell me how to get to Ogilvy’s cave?”
“Oooh Ogilvy!” She spills her own tea. The chihuahua howls. “Oooh he’s a dark horse, that one! Hiding away in that cave… what’s he up to? What’s he got to hide, that’s what I want to know! I knew his mother, back in the day…”
The sun climbs higher in the sky. The chihuahua yaps itself to sleep. You wait politely for a gap, then press, “So, how do I find this Ogilvy?”
“Aaah, seek and you shall find! The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, they say. But maybe you are really trying to find yourself?”
“Um, no, I’m trying to find Ogilvy.”
“Oh, that rogue! I heard he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic—”
You thrust the Freelancia map in front of her. “What’s the name of this mountain?”
“Ohh, that’s Molehill Mountain. You can see it out of my window. It’s just beyond Hubris Hill. You don’t want to go to Hubris Hill, that’s where the Wishful Thinking Waterfall is. Load of lying hussies there. They tried to tell me the water’s got healing powers. Healing powers, my…”
You push your chair back, stand and peer out of the window. You see a mountain range in the distance, above the village rooves.
“That’s not a molehill, that’s a mountain…” you begin to protest.
She cackles gleefully. “Don’t make a—”
“Ok. Thank you. Goodbye!” you snap.
Turning on your heel, you set off on your next adventure: the Cave of Wise Ogilvy in Molehill Mountain, avoiding the Wishful Thinking Waterfall of Hubris Hill.
The Journey Begins
As evening falls, you reach the meander of a river, which you now know to be the RED River (River of Entrepreneurial Delusions). You camp there for the night. The next day, you can’t find a crossing, so you follow the river upstream.
You pass fishermen, casting their nets for improbable fish, which shrink and slip through any gap.
Further upstream, wild-eyed madmen prospect for gold. No signs of it yet.
After another day of looking for a crossing, you are alarmed, but not surprised, to reach the Wishful Thinking Waterfall in all its cascading glory. A dubious set of stepping stones cross the river, just below the plunge pool.
You step onto the first stone. A strange buzzing sound fills your ears and a tall, slender woman with a long neck, pointed chin and hourglass figure appears before you.
“I am Maria, the Magical Thinking Naiad who protects this stream. As our 10,000th visitor, you have been selected for our Wish-granting Lottery. You can win big! Make three wishes and they will almost certainly not be granted.”
“Almost certainly,” you think, hope igniting like a match left out in the rain. “That means there’s a small chance they might be granted. Well, it’s worth a punt. Someone has to get lucky. Why not me?”
Maria raises one eyebrow and winks at the camera.
“Go ahead. Manifest your destiny.”
With the growing conviction that you are the Chosen One, you ponder which wishes are worthy of your potential.
“I wish for my writing to inspire a paradigm shift that saves the world—No, the universe!”
Her eyes sparkle in the light scattered by the waterfall. You notice they are multifaceted, like a fly’s. “Granted!”
“Really?!” Ambition thrums in your abdomen.
“What is your next wish?” You observe that her abdomen is separated from her thorax.
“I wish for spiritual enlightenment!”
Maria rubs her hands together. “Granted!”
A dribble of dark grey spittle trickles out of her mouth.
“I wish for—” You cast about. An improbable fish leaps out of the water and lies on the bank, flapping about and gasping helplessly.
Something in your mind shifts. Reality sinks in.
“I wish for a way off this island. A way home.”
The naiad throws back her head and laughs. Like gravity-defying vomit, a cloud of bluebottles spews from her mouth. Her body dissolves and becomes a swarm. A thick mass of stinging insects surrounds you, burrowing into your ears and eyes, crawling up your nose, clinging to your hair and coating your skin.
Still gripped by delusion, you dive into the plunge pool in the vague hope it might be a portal out of here.
Inside the Wishful Thinking Waterfall
You are sucked deep into the whirlpool straight away but instead of emerging in a better realm, you are dragged under the thundering waterfall. You struggle to swim out but you’re helpless against the steady power of the water.
Worse still, an availability cascade of toxic positivity floods your mind. You start to believe you are just having a bad dream. If you just let yourself drift off to sleep, you’ll wake up back at home. Images of home, family and friends are edged out by a strong sense of yourself as an enlightened being, radiating infinite wisdom. This disappears and suddenly you’re surrounded by adoring fans, telling you how inspired they were by your powerful words that saved the world…
Fighting the urge to breathe in, you kick with all your might but it’s no use. You can almost feel your life force draining away like water down the plughole.
Something with pointy bits closes around you, gently pricking your skin.
Something propels you upwards. The raging torrent subsides, and you finally break through the surface.
The first thing you see is the improbable fish, which gives you a withering glance and plops back into the water.
Something releases you gently onto the riverbank. Rolling over to see what it is, the painful prick marks now seeping little rivers of blood all over your skin, you gasp in shock.
It’s an alligator!
The alligator stares back at you, blinking its double lids.
Perhaps still groggy with wishfulness, you say, “Thank you.”
“No problem. It’s all part of my Saving Silly Solo Swimmers Service,” the alligator replies.
Seeing your puzzlement, the alligator adds, “I’m an Alliteration Alligator.”
“Huh,” you muse.
“Yes,” the alligator sighs. “I’ve bitten a fair few people in these parts. But now I’m part of a Transformative Termination of Toothy Temptation Trial, run by Alliteration Alligators Anonymous.”
You smile. “Good for you! And thanks again for saving my life!”
Chomp marks still stinging on your skin, but your heart warm with new friendship, you stumble unsteadily to your feet and continue your journey, this time determined to avoid any diversions.
The way ahead is fraught with danger, half-truths and tired marketing tactics. Will you make it to Ogilvy’s cave?
Are you drowning in the Wishful Thinking plunge pool? No Alliteration Alligator to save you? Read my field guide to wishful thinking for practical businessfolk.
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