I am one of those writers of fiction that believes that the characters usually take over the story and write it. I wrote this short story about it a few years ago (2013). It is a little too long for a blog, so I broke it into two parts.
Who’s in Control? (Cont’d)
“Over my dead body,” the villain says. She decides to call him Blackheart. It may be too descriptive, too obvious, but it will do for now. Besides, it makes her feel better.
Blackheart continues, “I will stop you, and throw you in my dungeon to rot.”
“If you do, I will rescue him, and we will be married and live happily ever after.” She speaks with a voice like butter melting on a baked potato. She decides to call her Mary, using her own middle name. Now they have even more in common.
Baked potato? Where the hell did that thought come from? Then she remembers and rushes to the kitchen. Too late! The potato in the oven is now black and crispy. It looks like another PB and J sandwich for dinner. She grabs a newspaper and fans the smoke detector. When she gets it to shut up, she returns to her chair. Her guests have remained motionless, waiting for her return.
“Too trite,” Angel says, picking up where they left off. “It has been done. Is this a fairy tale? We can do better than this. You might as well tie Mary to railroad tracks and I could ride in on my white horse just ahead of the train. Come now, people, think!”
“Perhaps we should modernize it a bit,” Mary says. “You know, make it more relevant. Make it Chicago, or New York.”
“Not a bad idea,” Blackheart interjects, “I could be the rich tycoon and Angel could be an intern. Mary could be my sexy administrative assistant whom I secretly desire.”
Angel scowls, “Sound more like a reality TV show. Let’s be original.”
After a while, she gets the courage to speak, “Women still fantasize about knights in shining armor, castles and damsels in distress. Their own lives are like a dungeon and they want to be rescued.”
Angel, Blackheart, and Mary stare at her for a moment. Blackheart breaks the awkward silence, “Get real, will you? Besides, this is not about you. What do you know about romance? You made a mess of your own marriage.”
“Blackheart!” Mary shouts, very annoyed.
“Okay, that was a cruel even for me, but the point is this is your first novel since your divorce and while this may be therapeutic for you, it may not be interesting to your readers. We, on the other hand, have been through this a thousand times and know what readers what. So, sit back, pay attention, and we will get you through this.”
“Blackheart, you are an ass,” Angel interjects. “What Blackheart means to say is that we can help you write this book. And what is with the name ‘Blackheart’? Is that you talking and not a realistic name. Kill it!”
“Wait a minute! I like that name,” Blackheart protests.
“You would!” Mary says, still annoyed. “What about ‘Angel”? Turning to Angel. “Honey, I love you, but I can’t make love to an angel. That must go too. Will someone get that stupid doorbell? I can’t think straight with that ringing”
The doorbell startles her. She goes to the door and signs for a letter. It is an offer from her publisher for her novel. Her guests remain motionless, waiting for her to return, but she does not return. She takes this opportunity to escape upstairs to her computer to work on her novel.
As she starts up the stairs, Mary’s voice rings out, “Where are you going, Honey?”
“Upstairs to work on this novel.”
“Okay, we’ll wait here for you. And while you are at it, kill that ‘voice like butter melting on a baked potato’. That’s just too much.”
THE END
Who’s in Control? (Cont’d)
“Over my dead body,” the villain says. She decides to call him Blackheart. It may be too descriptive, too obvious, but it will do for now. Besides, it makes her feel better.
Blackheart continues, “I will stop you, and throw you in my dungeon to rot.”
“If you do, I will rescue him, and we will be married and live happily ever after.” She speaks with a voice like butter melting on a baked potato. She decides to call her Mary, using her own middle name. Now they have even more in common.
Baked potato? Where the hell did that thought come from? Then she remembers and rushes to the kitchen. Too late! The potato in the oven is now black and crispy. It looks like another PB and J sandwich for dinner. She grabs a newspaper and fans the smoke detector. When she gets it to shut up, she returns to her chair. Her guests have remained motionless, waiting for her return.
“Too trite,” Angel says, picking up where they left off. “It has been done. Is this a fairy tale? We can do better than this. You might as well tie Mary to railroad tracks and I could ride in on my white horse just ahead of the train. Come now, people, think!”
“Perhaps we should modernize it a bit,” Mary says. “You know, make it more relevant. Make it Chicago, or New York.”
“Not a bad idea,” Blackheart interjects, “I could be the rich tycoon and Angel could be an intern. Mary could be my sexy administrative assistant whom I secretly desire.”
Angel scowls, “Sound more like a reality TV show. Let’s be original.”
After a while, she gets the courage to speak, “Women still fantasize about knights in shining armor, castles and damsels in distress. Their own lives are like a dungeon and they want to be rescued.”
Angel, Blackheart, and Mary stare at her for a moment. Blackheart breaks the awkward silence, “Get real, will you? Besides, this is not about you. What do you know about romance? You made a mess of your own marriage.”
“Blackheart!” Mary shouts, very annoyed.
“Okay, that was a cruel even for me, but the point is this is your first novel since your divorce and while this may be therapeutic for you, it may not be interesting to your readers. We, on the other hand, have been through this a thousand times and know what readers what. So, sit back, pay attention, and we will get you through this.”
“Blackheart, you are an ass,” Angel interjects. “What Blackheart means to say is that we can help you write this book. And what is with the name ‘Blackheart’? Is that you talking and not a realistic name. Kill it!”
“Wait a minute! I like that name,” Blackheart protests.
“You would!” Mary says, still annoyed. “What about ‘Angel”? Turning to Angel. “Honey, I love you, but I can’t make love to an angel. That must go too. Will someone get that stupid doorbell? I can’t think straight with that ringing”
The doorbell startles her. She goes to the door and signs for a letter. It is an offer from her publisher for her novel. Her guests remain motionless, waiting for her to return, but she does not return. She takes this opportunity to escape upstairs to her computer to work on her novel.
As she starts up the stairs, Mary’s voice rings out, “Where are you going, Honey?”
“Upstairs to work on this novel.”
“Okay, we’ll wait here for you. And while you are at it, kill that ‘voice like butter melting on a baked potato’. That’s just too much.”
THE END
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