Character Assassination

Character Assassination

He’s at it again, and the sun’s not even up yet. Take your hands off the keys, asshole. Breathe. This guy, he thinks he knows me. Making me dream about casting my net wider and breaking out of this crappy little burg. How embarrassing. Why doesn’t he know that’s not me, for God’s sake? After all, he set me lose on the page in this neat little town—one he thinks is boring—and then decided I didn’t fit in here. That I needed to be troubled—a malcontent. What a crock. There’s nothing wrong with this town. I mean, not that I can see. But then it’s the only town I’ve ever lived in, and this is the only life I’ve got, thanks to him.

I have nothing to compare it with, but there are some things he got right. For instance, I was kinda liking the way he made me look, especially the tall thing, then bam I got into this terrible accident and now I have what he calls a burden to overcome. All because he took this writing course, and it said something about how writers have to give their characters challenges to overcome. The more challenges, apparently, the greater the struggle. The worse the struggle, the more satisfying it is when characters prevail. There’s some kind of arc I heard him thinking about that gave him the idea of the accident. Believe me, being able-bodied doesn’t mean life isn’t tough enough. I didn’t need weeks in the hospital, months of rehab, and a permanent limp, thank you very much.

Then there’s Glenda. Which wasn’t always her name. Good grief, he changed that poor girl’s name twice before he let her do or say too much. Boy, was she pissed. She’s nice enough, pretty too, and loyal to a fault, but I feel sorry for her. Hard as he tries, there’s just no chemistry between us. I mean, we aren’t feeling it. We’re going through the motions because we have no choice, but there’s no heat there, you know what I mean? No spark.

Glenda has no idea what she wants. The big guy has charts and graphs and even a genogram for her just like mine, and still she hasn’t revealed—at least to him—what her hopes and dreams are. Tell you what though, driving in a van with my sorry ass wasn’t even on her radar. With my attitude, who can blame her?

Then there’s my parents. They aren’t so bad, really. Mom is the long-suffering stay-at-home type when she’d really rather have a career, so she’s giving the guy fits. And Dad, well, why my father has to be such a bastard I have no idea. Dad—poor guy doesn’t have a name yet—keeps apologizing to me for the things the writer made him say to me. He’s pretty sure he’d never have left my mother and me, either. Thinks it’s a shitty thing to do. “I’m not that kind of guy,” he said, even though he doesn’t know what kind of guy he would be if he had a choice. Which he doesn’t—none of us do.

There are some minor characters without backstories yet who are partially fleshed out some pages in, but he hasn’t let us interact with them. There’s no telling how that’s going to go when we meet, but I'm open to finding out. As if anybody asked me.  

When our creator takes a break and goes to that job he hates, the four of us get a chance to hang out and talk. Mostly it’s about what we think he’s going to do to us later, but sometimes we have a chance to dig deep and look for our own motivation. Like me, for instance, I’ve got no interest in driving across the country. That’s his dream, not mine. Me, I’d rather go to college. I wouldn’t have given up that scholarship! He should have given me a chance.

Every time I scowl, curse, and act all sullen, I want to yell at him, “I’m not that guy.” I’m pretty happy, actually. Not at all like he’s writing me. Being alive is such a trip. Getting to walk and talk and think and have muscles? That is so cool. Why ruin it with a personality that’s never satisfied with anything? I know, I know, I’m going to grow. The way I figure it is once a jerk always a jerk. Even if there are some who will believe in my redemption, I’m not buying it.

But here we are, thirty pages in and I’m stealing my uncle’s van so I can see the country and have some growth producing experiences. Some of them with people I’ve yet to meet. Glenda’s going to come along, even though she’d rather poke her eyes out. The author wants her to get away from this abusive boyfriend who is formally named Zachery. She just wishes the guy would be nicer. And Zach? He’s not the brightest bulb. I just hope our guy doesn’t decide Zach needs to hurt me when he finds out Glenda’s leaving with me. I’m not into pain.

While our creator was sleeping last night, I managed to sneak in a tiny spark of doubt about where this was all going, hoping he’d wake up this morning ready to take a U-turn, but nope, there he was Googling away about the town I’m going to where there are sure to be more challenges. I guess I’ll go. I mean, what choice do I have? Me? I’d love to hang out with my parents, enroll in that college, and see what my smile looks like.

Even though I think the author is on the wrong track, I hope he doesn’t give up. I live in fear of that delete button. I’d hate to be wadded up and thrown into the trash basket without ever having a chance. But I also wish he’d chill and listen to us instead of thinking he knows best. We’ve all got ideas about where this story needs to go. He needs to trust us to show him.