Wednesday, June 24, 2009

It's My Story!

“Ouch! Don’t do that. Every time you erase something it hurts.”

“Is she doing that again?”

“Yes, along with various painful and embarrassing things. What happened to her growing up?” I roll my eyes without being told.

“I like what I do.”

“Yeah, if I got to be a Rock Star I’d like it too, but your personality is all wrong for it.”

“You think?”

I sigh without direction and sarcastically say, “Yes, I think. Asking that question is proof enough that you can’t handle the fame. You’re too nice. I don’t know why she gave you the job, and made you the Protagonist. The main character is supposed to be flawed. You… you’re booming with happiness and a clean cut life.”

“Maybe she’s tired of her characters being flawed and wants to have someone with an easy life.”

“And maybe you should shut up! I don’t know why I even bother talking to you, you’re annoyingly perfect.”

“What’s wrong with being perfect and nice? I bet she feels the same way that’s why I’m the main character.”

“You’re a character all right. SHE made you the main character because her life is all messed up. I mean just look at her.”

We both look up at you at the same time without a prompt.

“She looks fine to me. I can see the crinkles between her eyebrows. It looks like she’s concentrating hard.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. There shouldn’t be any concentration. She should put pen to paper and follow along with the story.”

“Why have writers if the story writes itself?”

“Because someone needs to write what WE tell them to you idiot!”

“Then I wouldn’t be a Rock Star. You’d beat me up, take my fame and I’d be homeless.”

“Now that’s a story!”

“But it’s not how the story should be told.”

“Really? Who says that’s not how it should be told?”

“She did.” He points up to me.

“You mean OUR writer?”

“Yes. Our writer. She seems to have everything under control. I’m going to be performing in Times Square… OW! What are you doing?”

I start punching the Rock Star with all my might. He runs away, but I chase after him and catch up. My fists sink into his softness.

“Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

“That’s the point dummy.”

With increased speed, my fists connect with his face, one after the other stopping Mr. Rock Star from getting up. In an instant, I feel a sharp pain in my back as I stumble away. I feel wet warmth, so I touch my back and my hand is covered in blood.

He looks up at me. “You bitch! I’m the one who--- ”

He falls with his eyes still open but motionless.

Rock Star looks at him then me then back to him. He gets up, throws the knife in the dumpster and brushes the dirt from his clothes. Other than a bleeding lip he’s fine.

Again, he looks up, winks and smiles. “Thanks for your help. I was beginning to think you changed your mind and wanted him as the Protagonist.”


  1. Interesting take on internal dialogue going on here. Oh, the conflicts of writing ... nice how they worked things out!

  2. LOL! Yes, we sometimes fight with our characters and when one becomes too annoying we can always get rid of them. :)

  3. Bea,
    This piece was quite inspirational for me. It made me open my thoughts as to how a writer creates their work. The characters have come to life and have learned that their very being and persona will be determined by the writer’s stoke of a pen or computer. The writer’s imagination is boundless and free to go wherever is necessary to make the piece work. I now have a greater respect for writers and the journeys they can take me on. Before I just saw a piece and just took it for granted that it’s there for me without thinking how creative the writer was. It’s not my forte, but I did write a poem once and I enjoyed doing it. ; ) In my prior work I had to write reports and tried to make the boring stuff somewhat interesting reading to my superiors. I don’t really know if they read all of my report or not. LOL!

  4. Hello Anonymous,
    I’m glad it was inspirational to you. I think we all forget the work that goes into professions, so I’m glad this opened your eyes to the creation of books. Writing poetry is fun and in some ways therapeutic. I’m sure every report of yours was read to the T. LOL! Take care of yourself and thanks for stopping by.