Page People

What unwritten people sometimes don’t understand is that those of us who come to life on the page have a much bigger reality than anyone who exists only in flesh and blood. You just have to stop and think for a moment to see that what I say is true.

I doubt very much that you can visualize Margaret Mitchell. But Scarlett O’Hara is as real as any of your own relatives. Maybe more real. Mario Puzo? No idea. But Don Corleone you know. And Atticus Finch clearly is more important than Harper Lee. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy or Louisa May? Frodo or J.R.R. Tolkien? I could go on, but you see my point.

I’m kind of a big deal. That’s not my fault and it’s not her fault. That’s just the way it is. I’m guessing that you can’t visualize my writer, Shannon Brooks. But when you see my name – Floradora Rufflefluffer – you get an immediate, and I may say, unforgettable picture of me. If I do say so myself, it’s a perfect name for me.

 I’m adorable. I have bows on my shoes, bows in my hair, and, of course, ruffles everywhere. Like Venus rising from that seashell in the Mediterranean, I came full blown out of her mind and onto the page. She did not construct me deliberately, one bow at a time. She merely found me. Like Popeye, I am what I am. I am a ray of sunshine in a dark world, and all around me are dazzled.

The problem is that I am a flat character. I am not well-rounded. I have no weakness or failing. I am not a secret villainess luring kids into my gingerbread house. You would feel just fine letting me babysit your children or walk your dog. Like Mary Poppins – there’s another example that proves my point – I am practically perfect in every way.

So why – oh why – can’t my writer leave well enough alone? I’ll tell you why. She’s been taking writing classes online. She’s being taught that a protagonist must have a many-sided, realistic personality to engage readers.

That word: “realistic” tells you right away that it is not reality her teacher says readers want, with its dull daily tasks and boring routines. No, they want something beyond reality, but it must be made to seem real. And perfection like mine does not seem real – probably because it is something you are unlikely to encounter more than once in a lifetime.

In her teacher’s mind, even a shining, angelic character like me has to exhibit flaws or nobody will believe her. Sherlock has his addiction. Monk has his obsessive compulsive disorder. Huckleberry Finn has his illiteracy. Shannon has become determined to give me at least one major character flaw so that readers will identify with me and love me. Well, I’m not having it. I will cross out her errors myself if I have to.

The problem is that Shannon has some ridiculous idea that she can control what I do and even how I look. Poor delusional girl! She just doesn’t understand how this works. She’s on a break right now, doing Pilates. But when she comes back, she’ll make another feeble attempt to wrest control and manage my life. We’ll see how that works out! Here she comes now. In minutes, her fingers start pounding the keys.

Floradora sits by her window, sipping tea and watching children troop by on their way home from school. Flora loves children – especially the chubby ones – and she studies them to see which one is alone and most vulnerable. Which would not be noticed if he or she were to disappear? Which one looks like he needs some motherly support? Which one might be drawn to the smell of warm cookies? Maybe approach the house with curiosity? Which could be my next victim new friend? Floradora has helped more children through school than she can count. Ah, here he comes up the walk with his permission slip. Time to offer some help with  fractions and decimals. She smiles as she opens the door.

To my great relief, Shannon can’t sustain the idea of me as an evil witch luring children. It’s been done. All by herself, she crosses out the clues that show my underlying wicked intentions. Even a beginning writer can see that it just doesn’t work. I’m hoping she’s finished with her silly attempts to make me a flawed character. But, sadly, she tries again.

Floradora sits by her window, sipping tea and watching her neighbors, peeking around the curtain with her binoculars. Anyone might assume she is a bird watcher. Actually, she is a bird watcher. but right now she is on a spy mission. The mailman has ducked inside Mrs. Brown’s house again, just as he did yesterday. Surely he doesn’t need a signature on some piece of registered mail two days in a row. What would Mr. Brown think if he knew about this? Flora gets her camera and snaps a photo as the mailman leaves the house.  And then she sees it: a yellow tufted finch. What could be more beautiful? She runs to find her camera.

Shannon takes a deep breath and begins again. I’ll give her this: she’s a determined writer, even if not a very good one. But this time, she chooses a form of evil that is unimaginable. She has gone way too far.

Floradora sits by her window, laptop in front of her, waiting for the call she gets paid to answer. When it comes, she responds quickly. “Hello. My name is Melanie. How can I help you? ...Oh, I see. Well, it shows on my screen that you have purchased the basic plan. Is that right? And the contract for the basic plan does not include tech support. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will be billed at our hourly rate. Do you understand? Hello. Hello?

I can see that Shannon’s mind is going ever deeper into the dark side. This last attempt was truly evil. I am offended that she would think such a thing of me. Why can’t she accept the fact that I am exactly what I appear to be: a sweet old lady with a heart of pure gold and love for all mankind?

I am losing patience with her. There are limits to my near-perfect tolerance. If she doesn’t stop trying to twist and pervert me, I may have to come off the page and put an end to her writing career. Nobody messes with Floradora Rufflefluffer!