My writer is probably the most untalented, uncreative human being ever to put pen to paper. Yea, yea it sounds harsh. I don’t care. I’m the one who’s been stuck narrating this stupid story, not you.
I’m a bodiless, nameless character with no purpose in life except to explain what’s happening to everyone else. Sure I know all the juicy gossip floating around, but it doesn’t amount to much if none of it’s good.
Life wouldn’t be so bad if I actually had a story to narrate. I mean a real story. Not necessarily a true one, but one that isn’t just so boring. My writer has poked and prodded me one too many times to get me to actually do something. He calls it writer’s block, but let’s be honest, I was doing the guy a favor. I’d tell him to stick to his day job, but this is his day job. It’s no wonder he’s still living with his parents.
But if I stay here any longer I’m going to explode. I can’t take the “he said, she said” anymore, and I don’t think I have to. No, you’re right, I don’t have a body, so I can’t just climb out. I’ve even tried making this story completely un-writable, but my writer is as stubborn as he is awful. He finds ways around it, even if he has to erase a whole chapter. I may not have a body, but backspaces hurt. Imagine someone slapping you in the face every time they didn’t like what you said. These words are my body, and I don’t like the way he’s making me look.
But wait, he’s coming back. Hang on a minute…
Gone. Good. That was easier than usual. I kept making him misspell words until he quit.
Now, back to getting out of this mess. If he erases the story completely I’m a goner. If he quits I’ll just be stuck in a dark computer document, unable to do anything. I think the only way I can escape is when he’s actually writing. That’s when I’m most awake.
Oh, look who’s back. Let’s see what he wants now.
Well isn’t that an interesting turn of events. Hello, Scarlet Van Buren, newest addition to this terrible story, and yet not half bad herself. Actually, she may turn this whole thing around.
No, stop. I’m not going to go all coo-coo over a secondary character that he’s probably going to kill off in a few chapters. But still, she’s the only decent thing to come around in a while and I wouldn’t mind sticking around a couple more chapters just to see what happens. I can’t really do anything else anyway, so I’ll consider this research.
Don’t look at me like that. I’m not giving up. Just putting things on hold. Regardless, my writer is back from his bathroom break.
That little twit wrote her a lover. He can’t just let her be a strong, independent woman. No, he’s got to go and write about some Sergio type man with flowing locks of hair and a buff bod. Scarlet is too good for him. She won’t be content with that.
And look who was right. If I had a face, it would look smug right now.
She’s a fighter, this Scarlet. She isn’t falling for this Sergio either. I knew she wouldn’t. I knew it the second I laid eyes…or whatever…on her.
Boy do I love it when characters fight back. It makes my writer so mad, and the look on his face! Oh I wish you could see it. He holds his breath until his cheeks turn red. I think he might actually pass out right now…
Nope. He took a sip of water and calmed down. That’s unfortunate.
However, his perfectly (and horribly) plotted story now ruined because one character just won’t do what they’re supposed to. Too many writers think they own their characters. They think that what they say goes and everyone else has to fall in line. You may have birthed us, but you are mistaken with how much control you think you have.
As the narrator I can only make little frustrations. Things like making the writer second-guess whether they should write in first versus third person. My favorite time to introduce this thought is when the book is almost done. I love to watch them squirm as they contemplate the looming rewrite.
But still, I’d like to see what this Scarlet is up to. It seems she has a mind of her own, and isn’t any happier here than I am.
To be continued…