Synopsis: Untitled, or: Tragedy Gone Wrong

I always wind up here, don't I? Satire, Humor & Parody, the untalented young talent returns for the second year running.

In a year of looming and clearly visible Crisis on the horizon, during the busiest season of Fictioneering (quite like the holiday season is for retailers, only in November), morale is at its lowest. Inspiration is backlogged in onion-like layers of bureaucracy (frustratingly in superabundance and just as pungent); wordcounts are shrinking; an insurrectionist movement of expository characters is besieging the Wordsmith's Guild and demanding greater dialogue allocations and non-numerary names. The Author herself is being haunted by the ghosts of novels past and can't rush to the aid of the organization devoted to building, running, and policing her fictional works—or maybe she's busy eating chocolate. Who knows?

Recognizing the severe shortage of agents at hand (particularly as they keep on getting killed off)—

And, um, a plot spontaneously generates itself from the ether and descends upon my word processing program. I'M GETTING THERE, I'M GETTING THERE. Someday I'll have a coherent storyline, but for now it's reading a lot like an unknown solution to an unspecified problem being carried out by unoriginal characters, and the plot changes so rapidly the whiplash will make your head spin. Ish.