Oh, Come on, Not again!

Prompt: Write from the point of view of a character in a story who keeps getting re-written by their second-guessing author.

Oh, come on, not again!

“Hey man, I am no Pinocchio and you are no Geppetto, so loosen up the puppet strings on my story, stop this madness,” as I shouted from the pages of my author’s tablet journal. There was silence. Outside the realm of the journal pages an introduction began. “My name is Buddy and I am a figment of my author’s imagination who calls himself Harry. But I know differently. If given the chance, I would jump off these pages and give Harry a good punch in the nose. We are nearly at the end of my story so let me back up and start at my beginning. Harry was not always at the top of his game in writing this story. Unbeknownst to him I secretly kept a journal as well. You may ask that if I am a character in his story then how could I possibly do anything secretive? Harry would nod off a lot when he did his writing. I managed to scribe a few pages about my true feelings and my perspective on this whole thing. So, you might say I was journaling in a journal. Then when he began writing again, I would be caught up in his whirlwind of craziness. Oh darn, he is conscious again. I have to follow his lead.”

Harry was whispering to himself as he organized his thoughts. “Buddy is my Walter Mitty. He espouses everything I wanted to be and more as he journeys through his life.  I suppose Buddy is my alter ego that makes it big in one fabulous career. Nonetheless, I am just not sure how I like how the story is developing.  Buddy starts out as a portly, awkward tween who at first glance seems clumsy, slow, and stupid. Then with inner fortitude (and the gift of my writing skills) Buddy becomes a lean, mean fighting machine. I take Buddy through a character development that would even surpass Thurber’s character.  I pride myself that I as an amateur writer could even be compared to James Thurber.”

Then Harry dozed off again. “Yeah, he thinks he is God’s gift to writing,” I said. “If Thurber could actually hear Harry’s ramblings, he would dig himself out of his grave to strangle Harry. Well let me tell you what this guy is really doing to me. First of all, he calls me clumsy, slow, and dim witted. The nerve!  Perhaps, though, Harry was actually a stupid kid when he was growing up.”

“Harry first cast me as a tween pirate looking for a treasure based upon an old map I found in my parents’ attic. I discovered relics resembling lost antiquities of a pirate’s booty.  I gathered them up thinking I would be embarking on an adventurous tour of the Caribbean in an old pirate-like schooner. I was ready to fight for gold doubloons and precious jewels.  Then in the story I find myself at a pawn shop selling the antiquities.  Before I had a chance to catch my breath, Harry was rewriting the scene where I find myself on the PBS Antiques Road Show seeking appraisals for all my stuff. Oh, come on Harry! Really? My distress must have triggered a vibration because Harry dropped his pen waking him up abruptly.  

“Oh, I need some coffee.” Harry lamented. “Buddy just does not seem to be a cooperative spirit. I will let him grow up a little more before I give him his new assignment.  I remember when I was a kid how much I liked playing baseball. How about I assign Buddy to the Iowa Cubs farm team?   He will rocket to the big leagues in no time! Buddy will be an All-Star!” 

Just after Harry penned his ideas his narcolepsy-like sleepiness kicked in. He was snoring like a buzzsaw in high gear. I exclaimed “Oh no. Another one of his brilliant career ideas for me. Harry had me on the Iowa Cubs. His idea of growing in status on the team amounted to me working as a bat boy. After a few seasons, I graduated to the equipment manager at Wrigley Field. Then he positioned me in the bleachers as a hot dog vender. He was just on the verge of explaining my antics as the team mascot, as a haggardly looking bear cub when he succumbed to his fatigue just before the year the Cubs won the World Series. Oh, Harry how could you do this to me?”

Harry regained consciousness. Harry bellowed, “Oh this story is just not coming together. I really need to get a zinger career for Buddy.  I know; I remember when I was a kid, I longed to be an astronaut. I see myself as a young man with a hearty physique ready to tackle the adversity of space travel. I will travel to “infinity and beyond.” I will be the first human to travel beyond the solar system. Oh, the possibilities are limitless. People will identify Buddy as a national space hero like Buzz Lightyear!

The excitement was too much for Harry and he slipped into unconsciousness again. When I read his storyline, I cringed saying “Oh, come on not again! It was one thing to be a part of space but Harry had me starting out as a maintenance engineer or otherwise called a janitor.  From that point it just got worse. Harry directed me through all kinds of odd jobs at NASA from a human resource specialist to a meteorologist but never anything resembling a typical astronaut. Harry, what are you doing to me?  I think I may have to take matters into my own hands to complete the story about me, Buddy.”

“Harry is really knocked out and sleeping like a baby. I figure this would be an opportune time to write the ending of my story; the Buddy Holly story. Yeah baby, I am a rock and roller! Shake, rattle and roll! Music has never been the same since I came onto the scene.  Perhaps I may not have the physical charisma of an Elvis Presley, but my vocals could capture any woman’s heart.  I used to be more country and western but my lyrics lend themselves to lovelorn ballads.” Then, an outside voice said “Harry, wake up! It’s time for dinner.” It was his wife yelping at him.

Harry finally joined the real world with drool all over his face. Looking at his journal Harry said, “this Holly story will not work. Holly ends up dead in a plane crash. No hero here; just legacy music. It is not going to work for me. I am going to have to rethink my entire approach for Buddy.”

Harry continued on. “I have always liked comedy, particularly stand-up comedy. Maybe Buddy’s persona and routine could be fashioned around some of the greats like Milton Berle, Jack Benny, Rodney Dangerfield, and even Buddy Hackett. He would be featured on all the variety shows and sitcoms across the country.”  Harry inwardly chuckled as he continued to pen this tripe.

Whoa, my time had come to jump out of Harry’s pages to yell some sense into him. “Oh, come on, not again Harry! Your rewrites are killing me! No one will ever know the Buddy story at the rate you are going.”  Harry could not believe his ears. His words from his story were screaming at him. Harry jumped in fear that demons were appearing out of his text. “Harry, this is Buddy in your story. Settle down and let us get this story written.” I added, “your ideas and my ideas are stalled. Let’s put our collective minds together and make this work.” Harry stammered, “I must be going bonkers hearing voices from my text.” I countered, “Harry, it is singular. A voice. My voice. Buddy’s voice. Relax and let’s do this.”

Buddy continued speaking, “Harry you are a writer, a mediocre one at best.” Harry sarcastically responded, “Gee, you are so flattering. Maybe, Buddy, I should not waste my time on you. I should let you disappear into my nebulous thoughts. You know, out of sight out of mind.” Buddy retorted, “Ok, I will take a walk right out here, but you are going to have to write that in your story in order for me to do it. Ha, ha.”

“Harry, you need to speak directly from your heart. Instead of trying to live vicariously through me perhaps you should write about the truth in your life. For instance, what makes Harry tick? What is your legacy in this life? What goals and ambitions in life have you accomplished or will accomplish? Harry, your writing is about you, not about a fictitious hero like me. Let your story be about you. Not about some mythical man called Buddy.”

No sooner had Buddy spoken these words, he was gone. Gone completely from the pages of Harry’s writing journal. Not a trace.  It was as though Buddy never existed in Harry’s mind.  Instead, Harry found himself recounting the details of his life. Harry was in full gear as he wrote with a new purpose. Harry mouthed the latest entries from the story. “As I reflect upon my life thus far, I now understand the importance of so many things. I need to be true to myself. I must endeavor to develop my priorities as they influence each day of my life. First and foremost is my faith in God.   Secondly, I aim to hold dear to my family and friends. Thirdly, I need to live in each moment with courage and stamina. Fourthly, aided by the Spirit of God be kind, empathetic, and zealous for life. 

Finally for some reason that I am not sure of, when writing a story never use the name Buddy. He will hound you like a dog and your story may just never come to an end.”

The Spirit (of God) can make life. Sheer muscle and willpower do not make anything happen. Every word I have spoken to you is a Spirit-word, and so it is life-making. But some of you are resisting, refusing to have any part in this. (Message 6:63)



Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come. The old has gone, the new is here! (2 Corinthians 5:17, NIV)

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsy Prompt

(NIV=New International Version)