Ellie and the Ethereally Endeared

“I only have three hours?” I asked incredulously.

“Less than that, actually: two hours, 39 minutes, 11 seconds.” She was calm and serene, which of course did nothing but add to my already increasing nerves.

“But I have nothing to write about!” I argued. “How am I supposed to write a story—with no plan—before midnight?”

“Well, you should probably start with a name,” she mused.

I paused for a moment, staring at an empty word document on my screen. I’ve always thought that a blank page, cursor blinking on a vacant first line, was one of the most intimidating things for a writer to see. That, and having no outline to work from in the first place.

“What should I name him, then?” I asked.

“Who said it had to be a him?” she retorted, then yawned as she splayed herself out across the floor. Her calm demeanor was only making me feel worse.

“Fine. What about Sarah?” I asked. It was my sister’s name.

“Too generic.”

Frowning, I thought back a few generations to my grandmother. “What about Gertrude?”

“Does she drive a covered wagon and churn butter in her spare time?”

“Alright—fair point.” I went for the first name that popped into my head. “How about Ellie?”

“That’s... my name.”

“Ya, so? It’s a great name, obviously.”

She didn’t look impressed. She yawned again, which I took as a sign of reluctant approval.

“OK—Ellie it is. What should I start with?”

“What she wants, obviously. Where else do you start with a story?” Ellie rolled over, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirled around slowly.

I thought for a moment. “She wants love.”

“Yikes.”

I looked over at Ellie. “What do you mean, yikes?”

“Just because she’s a girl, you think all she wants is love?”

“Well, no I… fine. She wants… revenge?”

“Ooh—yes. Much better.” She turned towards me. “She wants revenge for the death of her lost lover.”

“What? How is that different?” I asked.

“It’s completely different. She had love and lost it, and now she’s a raging cyclone of.. well, rage.”

I scoffed. “What great prose you have.”

She rolled back over, ignoring me.

“Alright,” I said, moving back to my keyboard. “Ellie seeks revenge for the lover that she lost. Should I assume her lover was killed?”

“Why else would she want revenge?”

I rolled my eyes and kept typing. “Let’s see: she wants revenge, but doesn’t know who killed her lover. Or—maybe she does know, but has to pretend she doesn’t?”

Ellie continued to ignore me, watching the fan blades spin.

“Even better: her best friend killed her lover, but they think Ellie doesn’t know! But Ellie does!”

“That’s more predictable than your dating life.”

“Hurtful.”

Ellie sat up, then moved to the couch. “Look—if you’re gonna write a story, you gotta do three things. First, you gotta promise the reader something from the very beginning, like you’re dropping hints to them about what’s gonna happen in your story. Second, you gotta make progress on that promise. Did you promise that the hero’s gonna be less of a coward by the end of the story? Then you better write some scenes where they’re real afraid, but have to deal with it anyway. Third, you gotta have it all pay off, having the hero return home, victorious and a changed man… or woman… or goblin.”

“Goblin?” I asked.

“Hey, I don’t judge.” Ellie began to fiddle with some yarn from one of her projects.

“Fair enough,” I said. “So she wants revenge. She knows who did it, but can’t get her revenge directly. Why?”

“Because a ghost killed her lover. Obviously.”

I turned, eyebrow raised.

Ellie stared me down. “Definitely a ghost. I stand by it.”

“How could a ghost kill a human?”

“Who says they can’t? Just because they’re ethereal doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.”

“Alright… I guess that explains why she can’t kill the ghost. But how does she get her revenge?”

“By killing the ghost’s lover.”

“I thought we just agreed that ghosts can’t be killed, on account of them being dead already.”

“Well ya, but who said the ghost’s lover was dead?”

I scratched my chin. “Would that even be revenge, though? Isn’t that more of an “eye for an eye” scenario?”

“Hey—you’re the writer, not me. I just live here.”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t think Ellie would do that. She’s not evil, but she is determined. She was head over heels for whoever her lover was, and would do whatever it took to get her lover back. Maybe she…” I looked up at Ellie, who was already looking at me.

My eyes went wide. “She’s totally going to the underworld to get her lover back, isn’t she?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“Cool.”

“Less than two and a half hours now.”

“Not cool!”

Ellie yawned again as she picked at another ball of yarn.

“Alright,” I said, beginning to type. “I need a title for this story. Something good, something enticing.”

Ellie looked up. “Isn’t that bad luck? Picking a title before you finish the story?”

“Kid,” I said. “There's no mystical energy field that controls my destiny. In my experience, there's no such thing as bad luck.”

“Wow: not only are you splicing two different quotes together, they’re not even from the same person! And you’re misquoting both of them!”

“Whatever,” I said. “How about, ‘Ellie in the Underworld’?”

She grimaced. “Bland. Try something with actual flavor to it.”

“You’re just hungry,” I retorted. “How about, ‘Ellie and the Ethereal’?”

Ellie perked up. “Better.” She hopped up, walked over to me, and sat on my desk. “But you can do better.”

I thought hard, my nose scrunching. Then I looked down at Ellie, eyebrow raised.

“What about ‘Ellie and the Ethereally Endeared’?”

“Punch it, Chewie.”

I laughed, then scratched Ellie behind the ears, her tail curling in response. “People would think I’m insane if I didn’t have a cat to talk to while I write, don't you think?”

Ellie purred, then darted away, spilling my water glass all over the floor.

“Typical,” I groaned. Then I began to type.