Dear Character (Thread 2 in the Talk to Me Series)

Dear "Sadie",

I'm trying to get a picture of who you are, but every time I try to interview you, you tell me very convincing lies. They sound like what you think I want to hear. That bit about you bouncing around in the foster system because your father was abusive? That feels a bit contrived. I saw the mask slip a bit when you mentioned your sisters, but then it was back to your game face.

I get the feeling that you spent some time on the streets due to your quick reflexes and your trust issues, but that's not the whole story. You have a skillset that screams intelligence training. But the fact that you're a smoker, and the way you were sweating and shaking after the coffee shop incident says that you weren't fully trained, not by any government agency anyways... I have a vague suspicion that you were a high-level thief, and that you had a mentor of some sort. But if I pry, you cross your arms and say "Fuck you!". You won't even tell me your real name.

I'm just trying to tell people your story. I can't promise you won't get hurt, but I'll try my best.

-Regards, your biographer.

Flagship said:

I'm just trying to tell people your story. I can't promise you won't get hurt, but I'll try my best.

-Regards, your biographer.

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Stubborn characters are awfully fun to read about.

It's a bit of a pain in the ass when I'm trying to go to bed and she keeps poking my brain with a straw to get up and take her home when I'm nowhere near a keyboard. I left her at work with her hair full of icky make-shift dye and her ponytail in the sink, and she wants to go home and take a shower to fix her hair and think about that pretty brunette at the coffee shop and I'M NOT PEEKING I SWEAR.

Dear Greg,

Okay, look. I know. I've put you in a box, and it's pissing you off. You're a secondary character, left out of all the big action scenes. Yeah, I let you do some hero stuff at the end; but it's not much. I don't even let you get beat up. Not even once. Plus, you don't get the girl. You don't. I'm sorry. It's not even on the table.

So I'm asking you again: back off. You are an important structural element of the story, but you're not The Guy. He's the one who gets to solve the crime and be the hero. It's his story. That's just the way it is. I know that I know you better than I know him; but that just doesn't matter. THIS IS NOT YOUR BOOK. Keep your nose in your own scenes.

You get the sequel, I promise. But you may not thank me, because for a lot of it you act like kind of a jackass. Because you can be, you know. I'm just saying.

You know I love you, man. Sit tight, do your job, and I'll give you more room in the next book.

Cross me, though, and I'll leave you married to that horrible harpy, and you'll never see your sister again. I'll do it. I mean it. Behave yourself.

Love,

Liz

I'll play

Dear Coop,

You were supposed to be a sidekick in this story. I've already let you turn it into a buddy adventure. Don't make me sick Bruce Cambell on you.

Now convince Ethan that both of your paranormal skills are getting in the way. It's the human elements that are going to get you out of this predicament.

Virg

Flagship said:

It's a bit of a pain in the ass when I'm trying to go to bed and she keeps poking my brain with a straw to get up and take her home when I'm nowhere near a keyboard. I left her at work with her hair full of icky make-shift dye and her ponytail in the sink, and she wants to go home and take a shower to fix her hair and think about that pretty brunette at the coffee shop and I'M NOT PEEKING I SWEAR.

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A nice bluetooth keyboard can work nicely in bed, even if your computer is across the room. I don't know if I should recommend that, though.

I knew I was doomed when I started dreaming about my characters instead of my day job. They're more real to me than a lot of the people I work with. (Should that worry me?)

Dear Dean,

I'm really sorry about all the stupid scenes. It's a first draft. It'll get better in revisions, just like it did in book one. Remember that? Remember when you were a tight-assed prick until I gave you a chillax pill and you became a likable everyman? Work with me. Say it together: it gets better.

And in case you need some incentive to behave: you will get the girl. So chew on that crunchy carrot, buddy. And please let me into your head without me needing to pry open your skull with a crowbar every time.

Love,
Your Evil Master

Dear Tony,

You do not have to get a lap dance in every scene. Come on man, be realistic about this. Once is enough and if you keep going this route, I am going make sure you get the crabs, big ones...

You pal,
Nick.

Thanks, Namatu, for starting this again.

These are great.

Dear Stuart,

Dude, she's in love with your brother. Are you sure you want to--okay, okay. Go for it. But she actually kind of scares you. You know, with the guns and punching and all. Are you sure--okay, okay.

Don't say I didn't warn you, friend.

Mama

Virgilante said:

Dear Coop,

You were supposed to be a sidekick in this story. I've already let you turn it into a buddy adventure. Don't make me sick Bruce Cambell on you.

Now convince Ethan that both of your paranormal skills are getting in the way. It's the human elements that are going to get you out of this predicament.

Virg

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OMGoodness we had a Bruce Campbell reference and somehow I missed it. Bravo, Virgilante!

Dear Trey,

Sorry about all the beatings. Also the sleep deprivation.

At the end there, though - you are pretty awesome for a guy with a concussion.

Dear little tokolosh

You're a southern African has-been right now and I want you to get into the 21st century, go cosmopolitan. I'm not sure you get the point of why you're here, at a dinner party for amateur magicians in John Dee's hometown on the Welsh Borders.

You're about menace. Around you there are all these dopey and toothless Thelemites, aging Chaos magicians and dabblers in Voodoun. But you're the real thing and they're not expecting that.

Phoebe knows you're trouble. Her patronising fool of a husband thinks she's 'an unfortunate believer in a lower form of Wicca, a slightly dull kitchen witch' but she can see you when others can't. And then there is the enigmatic Fig, who has brought you along, carrying you on one shoulder like some tame lemur, a curious exotic pet. Some of the magicians think of you as a reddish half-wild cat or small dog with strange ears. Others can hear you scampering about but they can't see you.

Fig is reckless and out for revenge. You are that revenge, you are about to explode into their lives, disrupting the supper and the carefully planned ritual afterwards. Imagine it -- there are the pompous ineffectual magicians draped in their black cloaks lined with red velvet brandishing polished athames, the ritual lit by tall ebony candles. A goat's skull on the altar. The women of the coven shivering naked on a spring night with bats and owls overhead, the foggy scent of lilac.

What are you going to do to end this charade, little tokolosh with your chattering sharp teeth and fierce gaze? Who will die first?

Hoping for more than nuisance value then --

Your conjuror

M

Dear Luke,

Because IT'S NOT YOUR BOOK!!!



m

Dear Nate,

Stop stealing things! You're not the antagonist, okay?
And there's gonna be even more sun in Bolivia; a chance to even out your suntan! I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just like seeing you burn!

Lidiya

PS. Stop flirting with the stewardesses. Don't make me spill your coffee over their dresses, now.

Namatu said:

Dear mccardey,



Yours,

Luke

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Oh I see you've met him, Namatu...

thothguard51 said:

Dear Tony,

You do not have to get a lap dance in every scene. Come on man, be realistic about this. Once is enough and if you keep going this route, I am going make sure you get the crabs, big ones...

You pal,
Nick.

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I'm feeling sort of bad for Tony here.

lizmonster said:

I'm feeling sort of bad for Tony here.

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That's alright, Liz - the Thoth will weaken. He's never turned down a lapdance yet...

Dear Harry,

if you think you know women, you're wrong. The real identity of Mona's killer is going to blow your mind. And the killer is not superhuman, despite the severity of the marks left on Mona's body which would lead to such conclusion.

That she was a whore-turned sex therapist who kept secrets on New-York's most powerful men has nothing to do with her death. I'll tell you this: men had nothing to do with her demise although I must admit they were the catalyst.

No. The culprit is an inner demon that lurks inside each woman.

Sill not convinced? Still looking for that bulky man with a fighter's nose? Keep looking. The killer is closer than you think.

I'm going to give you a hint. Check out Mona's office floor layout, how it has been remodeled recently. It's missing something crucial. In fact, that something is missing on every floor. Something men take for granted in an office building, but is useless for the occupants of that particular building. In fact, this apparent oversight from the contractors should send you bad vibes. They should tell you who's welcomed and who's not. But you're not seeing the signs.

Because you think like a man.

And I promise it's going to bite you in the end.

-cb

Dear Erica,

I'm not quite sure where you came from. But you're doing a good job, so keep at it.
I'm sure Liz will get over the fact that you stole her spot and made her change from a side character to a minor character. She wasn't very interesting anyways.

If you ever see your... Ex-boyfriend, I guess? Josh again, tell him I'm sorry that Sadie deleted him by slapping your ass. That was rude of her.

Don't ever change.
-The Biographer

P.S. You remind me of Pinkie Pie when you're drunk. It's quite endearing.

Namatu said:

You seem to be implying that's not normal.

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To be fair - my characters are a lot smarter than my co-workers. Of course, they're a lot smarter than me, too.