A meeting with the creator.

Why you don’t want to time travel in your own story…

Umm, it is a little embarrassing how long it has been since my last post. So I am now finally posting something, and it is different, so I hope that you enjoy!

This is an existing character from a series I am writing. The story was inspired by a challenge in a private writing group. If you are interested in more stories like this, please tell me in the comments.

I stepped out of the swirling vortex and into my world. I paused a moment to take in the view.

So, this was what my writing feels like.

Hmm.

Kinda ominous.

Maybe I should have picked a better timeframe for my journey.

Don’t go giving yourself second thoughts now. I told myself. You discovered how to get here, and now you should be enjoying it.

I look towards the horizon as the trees swayed in the high grass. A heavy, warm wind blowing them to and fro.

Half a second passed.

And he appears, walking up like out of a dream.

I pause a moment to take in my creation.

A tall, sturdy young man with a leather tunic and sword at his belt. Sunny, blonde hair and wistful, sky-blue eyes.

I walk up to him.

“Good morning,” I say. My voice sounds like a half-dead frog.

Weird

I didn’t think it sounded like that.

He stares at me, “So you are the person who sent the message?”

I pull my cloak closer to my shoulders, “I am.”

“Who are you?”

I smile, “You might find it hard to believe.”

“Try me,” he says. “I have been through a lot more than you could imagine.”

“It was for your benefit,” I say, slightly insulted. “All of those things are building you up. And all the loss is an essential part of your character arc.”

“What?” he exclaimed. “What do you know about me?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” I say. “I created you.”

He took a step back and stared at me harder.

“You?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I say, straightening up. “What’s wrong with that?”

He smirks, “Well, you would think that my creator would look a lot more impressive.”

I slump back into my normal position. Well, you handled that well, my sarcastic brain tells me. You created a character just as annoying and difficult as you are.

“Help me prove it to you.”

“Sure,” he responds. “How about, what’s my name?”

“Hanior.”

“Give me something harder, maybe an event that happened a few chapters back,” I suggest, “I tend to forget everything that happened in the previous chapter I wrote while I remember chapter two in full detail. So, try me.”

He gave me another weird look.

“Uhh, what is my sister’s name?”

I sigh, “Her name is Merida. She is taller than you, has dark hair, and drives you nuts, especially when she tells you to comb your hair.”

His eyes get wide, “How did you know that?”

“I thought I told you.” I say, “I created you. I know everything about you.”

His eyes got bigger at this reality.

The wind started to blow harder. I looked up and saw storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

It occurred to me how not fun being inside this book was.

Everyone I knew loved reading it.

I guess we all just like to watch our poor characters struggle across the page and never give a thought to what experiencing what they were experiencing would actually feel like.

“You know I can hear you, right?”

I turn back to Hanior swiftly and flash a sheepish smile.

“I guess I left voice narration on at home.” I explain, “That booklet on how to story travel left me more confused than when I started reading it, so I think I overlooked a few minor details.”

I check my watch and jump slightly.

“I am afraid,” I say, “I only have a few more minutes to talk to you.”

Hanior squares his shoulders, “Alright, but before you go, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

He glares at me. “Why on earth did you make me get hit by that mace? Or have that weird guy betray me? Or let my sister win that argument about potatoes?”

“Those were all to advance the plot!”

“But you had to?”

“Yes, I did! And it would be best if you were thankful that something worse didn’t happen. At a point in the story, I considered letting you die!”

“You almost -wait, WHAT?”

Boy, he was really getting on my nerves.

I hope this was not how my parents see me.

“That’s just rude.” He exclaims, his glare getting more intense.

 “I give up,” I say. “I might rewrite the potato argument, but nothing else.”

“Fine,” he said, relaxing. “But one last question.”

“Open fire.”

“What is your name so I can remember how to address you when I am in a dire predicament and the plot needs to stop advancing.”

I rolled my eyes. “My name is Grace, but you will not remember me.”

“Why not?”

“Because when I get back home, I am going to brainwash you.”

“What on earth? How do you intend to do that?”

“It is amazing how simple it is. All I have to do is push backspace.”

He sighed, “Well then, this meeting was pointless.”

“Not for me,” I said.

I heard the swirling noise as the portal opened up behind me.

I shook hands with him. “I learned something very important.”

“And what was that?”

“I can’t stand characters who are like me.”

I stepped into the portal, and as I was sucked back, I saw Hanior watching me disappear, looking a little dazed.

The scene faded and was replaced with my untidy desk strewn with papers and dreams.

I sighed, pulled up a new Word doc, and titled it Hanior.

All of that trouble for a character bio.

The things I do for my future career.

Plus, my mom thinks I am nuts.

Above photo is copywrite by Legend Fiction, to view their website, click on the photo or on the link. Legend Fiction

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