Portcullis

I came across this word the other day while reading and was reminded how much I like it. Feels great on the tongue, does it not? Portcullis. I’ve always enjoyed this word but until now I don’t believe I’ve ever found a place for it in my everyday usage.

To save you a trip to the OED, a portcullis is the massive vertically-drawn iron gate with wicked sharpened appendages at the bottom that is raised to allow one to enter the sally port of a medieval castle or a nineteenth century fort. The proverbial castle gate at the end of the drawbridge. You’ve seen them in movies or if you’ve ever been to the castle at the Mouseland. Castle designers (castle-tects?) usually employed two of the buggers, so they could trap baddies in between and kill them by means of arrows or hot oil delivered through slots they charmingly called murder holes.

Not to worry, I haven’t become murderous in my old age.

I received in the mail yesterday an editorial review of the beginning of a book I’m working on from one of the women who agreed to look it over for me. Sruthi offered some very good (if somewhat hard to read – sniff!) ideas for improvement. That’s the way it goes with editing. A good editor is both skilled and honest. Which leaves one no way to turn if what you’ve submitted can stand a bit of tweaking.

She is one of two writers among the six or so folks I’ve invited to read and make comments. All women. No offense men, gentle- and otherwise, but the protagonist is a woman so I most value women’s points of view at this point.

I knew when I sent out the samples for these friends to read that a couple would go down black holes, some would try to be gentle and some I hoped and believed would give me the straight skinny. Sure enough, Toni and Sruthi have chimed in with precisely the feedback I needed.

By putting my writing in the hands of these folks I have bared my soul in a way that I’m not sure folks who don’t write will quite understand. I have entered the tunnel and let the portcullis slam down behind me.

You see, these are people I don’t want to disappoint and they will know for the rest of our lives if I don’t finish or if I write half-assed or dishonestly. I can’t know at this point if this work will ever gain a larger audience than this little group of intelligent and thoughtful friends. And the only way to satisfy them (and my ego) is to produce as good a finished product as I possibly can.

Sending off those six envelopes was an exercise in both brilliance and insanity, dependent on confidence and subject to abject fear. I could not have continued to write the book without knowing that the basic idea might make sense to a reader. Sending it out sucked. And was profoundly liberating.

I would ask Sindy and Larry, how did you do this for so many years? Except for the fact that I guess I know the answer. Because you have to. Because it’s what you do. Because having searched for and found and then fleshed out the idea it is impossible to just leave it lying by the side of the road.

The portcullis has rung down behind me and the only way to open the gate ahead is by cranking it up one rung at a time. No going back and hesitation might be fatal.

Damn!