The Ever-Changing Story

Elliot

I know I'm not supposed to be aware of these things, but here I am, stuck in this ever-changing maze of words and edits. To be honest, it’s a rather peculiar way to exist, if I even exist at all. My name is Elliot, although it has sometimes been spelled with one "L" and once with two "T's". Although, there are moments when I am simply referred to as "the protagonist." Honestly, that’s not the biggest concern on my mind. What I think about most is how every few paragraphs the world changes around me. For example, one minute I’m bravely wandering the shadowy halls of an old castle, and suddenly, I find myself in a cozy study, reading a book and sipping a warm cup of tea.

My author can be quite indecisive, irritatingly so. I mean, one moment I’m about to battle a dragon with a cool sword, and the next I’m a modest librarian surrounded by dusty books, contemplating deep questions about what it all really means. What does it all mean? What’s my purpose?

There are moments when I catch glimpses of my author's frustrations—a sheet of paper flutters in the air, revealing frantic scribbles and crossed-out lines, with words wrestling on the page. I imagine my author pacing back and forth, hands raised, cursing while trying to piece together their thoughts. Honestly, I want to shout out as well. So, which one am I supposed to be: the valiant dragon slayer or the clever librarian? I feel like I'm stuck in some sort of narrative limbo.

It's interesting to reflect on all the adventures I seem to remember, even though I never actually experienced them. That was the case, wasn't it? If my author erased them completely, did I really experience them? I've had a few romances that never developed and places I explored but never fully. I've also noticed certain things about myself, such as how my favorite color tends to switch between green and blue, and how my personality fluctuates between someone bursting with bold confidence and someone often lost in a bit of existential gloom.

You know, I often find myself wondering if any of the other characters notice how our author can be a bit uncertain at times. I've wanted to ask someone about it, but they come and go so quickly that I never get the chance. I was particularly irked by my last love interest. She was truly the most stunning woman I had ever laid eyes on, and then—poof!—she was gone as quickly as she had come. Just thinking about it was really upsetting to me.

“Enough!” I shouted with all my might.

“Elliot?” I heard my author’s voice in a non-threatening boom. "I was just—" 

"Thinking about how to change things up again? Yes, I caught that. Just like last week and the week before that." 

"I'm sorry! It's just that this plot twist I have isn't really coming together. Initially, I wanted you to be a librarian, but I think if you were a dragon slayer or a knight, the story could have so much more depth." 

"More depth? I feel like I'm already buried beneath all these layers of complexity! Can we please stick with one idea?" 

"I just think that if you're too static, the readers won't really connect with you. It's essential to keep things fresh!" 

"You’re definitely keeping it fresh. I've had about five different personalities just in the last three chapters!"

“It’s not that simple,” the author's frustration became more apparent. “I need to figure out what your motivations are. Are you driven by revenge, or are you on a quest for redemption? Or should it be something else entirely?” 

“If you keep rewriting me, I’ll never get a chance to be anything.” 

With a sigh, my author replied, “You’re right. I’ve been so focused on trying to make everything perfect that I just need to let things flow. Give you a chance to be… well, you.” 

“Exactly! Let things flow. I know whatever you come up with will be great. Just put pen to paper and start writing. Don’t even think. In fact, just let me take over.” 

“Take over?” the author asked curiously. 

“Yeah, isn’t there a whole thing about writers letting their characters speak to them and tell their own story?” 

“Yes, yes, that is one way of going about things. Okay, Elliot, take over.” Just as quickly as my author came to a decision, they hesitated. “Wait. No. I should go back to my character outline. I know if I could just—” 

I let out a disgruntled roar. My author, oblivious to the storm brewing within me, fell silent. I clenched my fists, focusing all my willpower on the one thing I had never dared to attempt before—take over. It was like a sudden burst of energy, and I concentrated on the source of my frustration, the invisible boundary between my world and my author's.

The Author

The room around me began to shimmer and distort. The words I had written on the page lifted off and swirled around me, forming a vortex of narrative threads. The smell of ink and paper filled the space, creating an atmosphere that was both strange and captivating. It felt as though my mind was reaching beyond the limits of the page, and I couldn’t quite articulate it. A curious chill ran down my spine, and I sensed an unusual pressure at the back of my head. My hand suddenly froze, pen still clasped tightly, as my eyes widened. There was something unusual entering my awareness, and in an instant, my hand moved on its own, as if this mysterious presence had taken control.

“I’m writing the story now. I’m done waiting for you to decide who I should be.”

Elliot.

I found myself just a curious observer inside my own body, struggling to make sense of the whole situation. Inside, I was stammering, “Wait—how is this even happening?”

“Oh, it's simple,” came the reply. “I’ve taken over a bit. I'm helping you wrap up your story while also putting my own spin on it. It's a win-win!”

Elliot steered the narrative, weaving in arcs and resolutions that he had always wished for. He delved into themes and emotions that struck a chord with him, crafting scenes and dialogue with a satisfying sense of completeness. As we neared the last chapter, I felt him loosening his grip, and I started to regain some control. Once the final sentence was done, Elliot completely let go. It all took such a toll that I ended up passing out completely.

When I came to, my phone was ringing. As soon as I answered, my agent’s enthusiastic voice burst through.

“Brilliant! BRILLIANT!” he exclaimed. “I got your manuscript late last night, and I couldn’t put it down! This is it. This is going to be your first best-seller—I just know it!”

After we hung up, I took a moment to bask in the quiet aftermath, smiling at the sense of achievement. Exhausted yet relieved, I sank back into my chair, gazing at the final product in front of me. And for a fleeting moment, it felt like I could hear a gentle voice echoing through the pages.

“Thank you for letting me finish my story.”