Interrogating Indigo
"Create a situation in which a character must defend, explain, or justify his actions."
-Writer's Digest
For Janelle and Intisar
The room is dark. One bright light shines into the face of a seventeen year old boy: the Character. He sits at a desk and squints up at the Author. The Author paces in front of the desk, her trench coat flapping ominously.
"Please state your name for the record," the Author's voice growl's out. The Author's face is shadowed by her fedora.
"Indigo Zinzan," the character replies.
A typewriter clacks from behind a mirror.
"Mr. Zinzan," the Author has a bit of a cough in her voice. "Were you on your Grandmother's bus, sometime in November?"
"I was on my Grandmother's bus for most of November," the Character's distinct vowel sounds betray his country of origin- the United Kingdom of Great Britain.
"Don't get smart with me, young man," the Author said, dropping the proverbial hammer on his head.
"OW!" the Character cursed a bit, rubbing his head. "Was that really necessary?"
The Author swung to face Indigo, slamming her fists down onto the table in front of the Character. "Was it really necessary for you to choke the living daylights out of Willow Aloysia-Everglean?"
The Character gulped. "She was hurting my little sister."
"That doesn't mean that you have to torture her." The Author said, resuming her pacing. "Just protecting your sister would have been enough."
"Create a situation in which a character must defend, explain, or justify his actions."
-Writer's Digest
For Janelle and Intisar
The room is dark. One bright light shines into the face of a seventeen year old boy: the Character. He sits at a desk and squints up at the Author. The Author paces in front of the desk, her trench coat flapping ominously.
"Please state your name for the record," the Author's voice growl's out. The Author's face is shadowed by her fedora.
"Indigo Zinzan," the character replies.
A typewriter clacks from behind a mirror.
"Mr. Zinzan," the Author has a bit of a cough in her voice. "Were you on your Grandmother's bus, sometime in November?"
"I was on my Grandmother's bus for most of November," the Character's distinct vowel sounds betray his country of origin- the United Kingdom of Great Britain.
"Don't get smart with me, young man," the Author said, dropping the proverbial hammer on his head.
"OW!" the Character cursed a bit, rubbing his head. "Was that really necessary?"
The Author swung to face Indigo, slamming her fists down onto the table in front of the Character. "Was it really necessary for you to choke the living daylights out of Willow Aloysia-Everglean?"
The Character gulped. "She was hurting my little sister."
"That doesn't mean that you have to torture her." The Author said, resuming her pacing. "Just protecting your sister would have been enough."
The Character seemed to be getting over his nervousness regarding the Author. "That doesn't mean you have to bring me into a clique noir setting and interrogate me! And stop calling me "the Character". I have a name. I just stated it for the record. Surely you remember it." The seventeen year old boy was standing up, fists clenched, shouting at the Author.
The Author stopped pacing. She took off her fedora and looked straight into the boy's face. It was difficult for Indigo to be mad while looking straight into the face of a girl younger then he. True, she had an awful lot of power, but ever since the Character's half sister had come into his life, he had become very protective of younger girls.
"All you have to do," the Author said gently, "is ask nicely."
The Character sighed. "Would you please call me Indigo instead of 'the Character'?"
"Of course," the Author said. "Now, why do you get so angry all the time?"
"I don't know," Indigo said. He smiled at the use of his first name. "I... um. Well. I get angry a lot. It always seems to have a reason, but I didn't use to be so angry."
"How did you get this way?" the Author asked, doffing her hat.
"Mmmrrphmmph, mmmrph, mmmmeruph!" Indigo said. "Why can't I tell you?"
"Because," the Author explained, still pacing. "I have to censor you. I can't let people knowing all the plot twists before they read the book."
"You don't know yet, do you?" Indigo asked accusingly. "You don't know why I get angry all the time, so you are making me mumble under the pretense of not giving away spoilers."
"Ummmm," the Author said evasively.
"WEELLLLL?!" Indigo demanded.
The Author pulled out her pen (gel number 2, fine, standard black) and scrawled a few words on his head. Indigo disappeared, sent back to the rambling first draft slammed out in November.
"Feww," the Author wiped some sweat off her upper lip. "That was close." She took off her trench coat and fedora, revealing jeans and an out-of season Christmas sweater. The sixteen year old girl skipped out of the dark room, and back into the messy, colorful room where she was, amung other things, writing a novel.
The Author stopped pacing. She took off her fedora and looked straight into the boy's face. It was difficult for Indigo to be mad while looking straight into the face of a girl younger then he. True, she had an awful lot of power, but ever since the Character's half sister had come into his life, he had become very protective of younger girls.
"All you have to do," the Author said gently, "is ask nicely."
The Character sighed. "Would you please call me Indigo instead of 'the Character'?"
"Of course," the Author said. "Now, why do you get so angry all the time?"
"I don't know," Indigo said. He smiled at the use of his first name. "I... um. Well. I get angry a lot. It always seems to have a reason, but I didn't use to be so angry."
"How did you get this way?" the Author asked, doffing her hat.
"Mmmrrphmmph, mmmrph, mmmmeruph!" Indigo said. "Why can't I tell you?"
"Because," the Author explained, still pacing. "I have to censor you. I can't let people knowing all the plot twists before they read the book."
"You don't know yet, do you?" Indigo asked accusingly. "You don't know why I get angry all the time, so you are making me mumble under the pretense of not giving away spoilers."
"Ummmm," the Author said evasively.
"WEELLLLL?!" Indigo demanded.
The Author pulled out her pen (gel number 2, fine, standard black) and scrawled a few words on his head. Indigo disappeared, sent back to the rambling first draft slammed out in November.
"Feww," the Author wiped some sweat off her upper lip. "That was close." She took off her trench coat and fedora, revealing jeans and an out-of season Christmas sweater. The sixteen year old girl skipped out of the dark room, and back into the messy, colorful room where she was, amung other things, writing a novel.
I like this one!
ReplyDelete