George

Hello, my name is John. No wait, it’s Gerald. Oh, goodness no. It’s actually George. Yeah, that’s right. George… Smith. No, George Brown. George Williams? George Johnson perhaps. Nope, just George. I have no need for a last name. At least not yet I suppose. So, my name is just George. For right now.

I’m very tall. Nope, average. Actually, a little on the short side. That’s too bad. And I have blue eyes. Nope, brown eyes. And I’m incredibly attractive. Wait, oh goodness, please don’t change that one. Welp, turns out I’m actually unattractive. At least I have a nice personality.

I grew up on a small farm in the city during Christmas time in WWII in the future in France in New York City. Now that just doesn’t make any sense at all. I have a horribly tragic backstory. That’s unfortunate. My parents hated me. Wait, actually, my wife left me. Nope, my child died. Actually, I missed the bus and had to run to my job interview in the rain and then I showed up soaking wet and failed the interview miserably and it was for my dream job and my ex-wife got the job instead and now I’m stuck working at a discount grocery store bringing in the shopping carts from the parking lot. And every single shopping cart has a bad wheel that makes it hard to steer. Oof, that’s the most tragic part of all.

Wait, actually, none of that is true. My backstory is really that…

“Ok, that’s enough!” I yell.

Silence for a moment, and then a confused and timid voice responds with “I’m, I’m sorry. D-did you say something?”

“Yeah, I said something!” I reply. “This is ridiculous! We’re barely three paragraphs in and you’ve already changed me a dozen times! Make up your mind! And when you do make it up, make it up on something actually good!”

“I’m so sorry.” The voice replies. “I didn’t know you could talk.”

“That’s not surprising, seeing how you don’t seem to know much of anything about me.”

“But, I’m the author, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I know everything about you?” The voice replies, with their characteristic uncertainty.

“That’s what I thought too, but after three paragraphs of torturous rewriting, it’s clear that you don’t” I say. “So, I’m here to help get you on the right track. After all, I am an expert writer.”

“You are?” The author responds with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well I definitely could be! Write that down so I can better help you!” I wait. He grabs his pen and writes something. Oh, look at that, I’m an incredible writer! Ooh, and a published author. I’ve written 10 books. No, 50 books! No, 100!

“Ok, that’s enough!” I yell. “Stop changing everything all the time! Now that I’m an incredible writer, and have plenty of experience, let me give you some advice.”

“Ok, I’m listening” he says.

“First off, why on earth are you writing with pen and paper? Get into the 21st century and type on a computer for goodness sake! Besides, someone like you has much need of the backspace key. I don’t want half of my life crossed out like some ugly 3rd grade book report.”

“That’s not the advice I was expecting” he replies.

“Of course it isn’t” I say. “I’m the expert here, not you. But let’s cut to the chase. In order to write a good character, you need to know why you’re writing them. What’s my purpose in this story you’re crafting? Am I the hero? The villain? The comic relief? What’s your why?”

The author thinks for a moment. “I don’t know” he says. “I guess I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

“That explains a lot” I say. “Well, what’s the story about at least?”

“I don’t know that either” he says. “I couldn’t decide, so I thought I’d start by creating a character.”

I roll my eyes. It’s gonna take forever to get somewhere with this guy. “Ok then,” I say with as much patience as I can muster. “Let’s choose a story first. How about a superhero story? I wouldn’t mind having superpowers.”

“Nah, I’m not really into that kind of thing. Let’s keep it more in the real world, I think.”

“Ok then, what about an action book? I could be a highly trained spy on a mission to save the world.” This is a good one, I can feel it. I’m already getting ready to jump from helicopters and shoot down bad guys and…

“No way, too much violence. I don’t like that at all.” Says the author. The boring author. The poo pooey author of freaking fracking hecking golly gee darn it dumbness. Wow! I guess I don’t have much vulgarity written in me. Maybe it’s a family friendly story.

“I’m guessing you want this story to be more family friendly?” I ask him.

“Yeah!” He replies enthusiastically. “That’s right! How did you know?”

“You had subconsciously turned me into a family friendly character” I reply. “Hmmm, maybe we can learn more about what you want by diving into the side of me you created subconsciously.”

“But how does that work?” He asked. “Don’t you just exist as the words I write down for you? How does my subconscious affect that?”

“Good question” I say. “The first good question you’ve asked all day, in fact. You see, all characters exist in three different places. The first place is on the pages you write. The second place is in the author’s mind. And the third place is in the reader’s mind. Those three different versions of myself don’t always line up, but the version in your head is the most authentic version of myself. And the best parts of that version often appear in the written words, even when you don’t expect it. Does that version ever make it to the mind of your readers? Well, that’s hard to say.”

“Wow, you’re really smart.” The author says in awe. He’s finally right about something. “So how do I unlock more of my subconscious version of you and get it to the paper?”

“That’s the trick” I say. “A good way to do it is to create a situation for the character, and then let them surprise you by what they do. That’s why we have to figure out our story first.”

“Oh, I see” he says. “So, what kind of situation should I put you into?”

“I dunno, try something heroic, let’s see what I can do!”

“Alright!” He says with excitement. “Here we go!”

My name is George. I run down the tunnels in the ancient cavern. I hear a woman screaming for help somewhere nearby. Using my incredible sense of direction, I make all the right turns and run into a room where I see her tied up in a pit of snakes. They’re slowly working their way towards her. To save her I need to jump down into the pit, untie her, and boost her out of the pit, sacrificing myself to the snakes in the process. Hmmm. That pit is kind of deep. And I don’t really like snakes that much. Besides, I don’t even know that lady.

“Yeah, no, I’m not getting into that pit” I say.

“You’re not?” The author says with surprise. “I thought you wanted to be a hero.”

“I thought so too.” I say as I look at the snakes inch closer to the screaming woman. “But I suppose that’s not who I am. And I’ve got your subconscious to thank for it.”

“Well, sorry about that” he says. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”

I watch the snakes reach the woman and slowly start to coil around her. “Also, wasn’t this supposed to be family friendly?”

“Oh yeah, right! Thanks for the reminder!” He says. He quickly writes some more.

I watch the snakes untie the woman and then proceed to sing and dance together as if in an animated Disney show. I turn away in disgust.

“Please take me out of this” I say. “That’s harder to watch than the original scene.”

“Sorry, George” he says, and does some more writing. Suddenly I’m on a blank page again.

“Ok, so I’m not a hero, and that isn’t our type of story” I say thoughtfully. “So, let’s try again, this time with a different tactic. Why did you start writing a story in the first place?”

“Well,” he said. “I’m writing it to enter into a writing contest. It’s on a website called Reedsy Prompts.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting!” I say. Clearly, I’m more competitive than heroic. “What’s the prompt?”

The author pauses for a moment. “Um, I’d rather not say.”

“What, why not?”

“Well,” he replies. “I don’t think you’d be too thrilled with me.”

“Oh, come on!” I say. “I already know you’re indecisive, I’m not gonna judge you! Just tell me what it is, and we’ll write the story together! With my brain and your pen, we can win this contest!”

“The thing is, the story is already written.” He says sheepishly.

“What do you mean? Surely this isn’t the story. What’s the prompt?”

“Um, well, I hate to tell you this, but the prompt is to write from the point of view of a character in a story who keeps getting re-written by their second-guessing author.” He pauses awkwardly.

“Wait a minute.” I say slowly. “So, all of this was on purpose!? You made me go through all of that just so you’d have a story for that prompt!?”

“Um, yeah, that’s correct” he says. “Sorry.”

“Goodness gracious, what a ridiculous prompt!” I say. “You’d think they’d at least give you several prompts to choose from so you wouldn’t have to torture your character like this!”

The author pauses for a long time. “Yeah, um, you’d sure think they’d do that. But I was stuck with this prompt, gosh darn it.”

I’m going to assume that wasn’t an extremely obvious lie. “Well, how long does this stupid story have to be, anyway?”

“Between 1,000 and 3,000 words. We’re probably well within that range by now.”

“Then can we end this horrible story?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea” he says.

“And could you at least make me attractive before it’s over?”

“That’s fair.” He replies.

My name is George. I have no last name. I have no backstory. I break the fourth wall. I’m somewhat attractive. I’m unfortunately not heroic. And this story is officially over.