Artz: Well, I don't think I actually agreed to it. I don't really feel like I had any choice.
Trent: Well, either way, I appreciate your time.
Artz: No problem. Now what exactly was it that you wanted to see me about?
Trent: This is really hard to explain, but I am not happy with how my character is developing and I thought maybe you could do something about it.
Artz: You don't like the way your character is developing? Whats wrong with it?
Trent: Oh, come on, now! You portray me as this marginally idiotic cub reporter writing what can best be described as a slapstick version of prehistory. It is beyond silly. It is undignified and demeaning.
Artz: Gosh, I thought it was informative and enlightening in a humorous sort of way.
Trent: But it isn't relevant to the history of Foggy Bottom.
Artz: Maybe not immediately relevant. But, I was trying to show that the people of Foggy Bottom are the way they are because they are the product of millennia of evolution. And I took a, what was your word, slapstick, approach because it would have been too dry otherwise.
Trent: Well, Im sorry, but I just find this character you have created for me to be most undignified. In fact this whole story is a little weird. You have these wacko Dickensian caricatures running the Foghorn editorial office with bizarre names like Higgenbothom and Nestermeyer. Higgenbothom is, at best, deluded and Nestermeyer is neurotic and paranoid.
Artz: What's wrong with them? I added them for comic relief. I thought they were funny.
Trent: You need comic relief to reduce the tension in an otherwise dramatic story. This whole story is a joke.
Artz: Hey! Be careful! I am still the author, you know. I could give you a clubfoot. Or, how would you like to have an affair with Sally Nestermeyer?
Trent: OK, OK, sorry. But you were the one who added Leon Trout and if it weren't for him, I would have never found out that I was a fictional character. So this is really all entirely your fault and I think you should do something about it.
Artz: Suppose I do agree to do something about it. Exactly what would you like me to do?
Trent: Well, in the first place, I would like to be a serious historical writer instead of this fast and loose sophomoric cub.
Artz: Do you mean you would like to write like James Michener?
Trent: Michener is still a little too fictional for my taste. How about somebody like Barbara Tuchman?
Artz: Tuchman? My God! Her stuff is so dry that it pulls the humidity out of the air.
Trent: Alright then, how about a compromise? Make me a writer somewhere between Michener and Tuchman? And make me older, more mature, and somewhat sophisticated.
Artz: The problem is that historical nonfiction is really boring. Are you sure that is what you want?
Trent: I'm sure. Anything is better than the way things are going right now.
Artz: Let me think about it. While we are at it, is there anything else you want?
Trent: Yeah. I'd like to turn the Foggy Bottom Foghorn into a serious journalistic establishment. I'd like for you to make Higgenbotom and Nestermeyer into serious reporters and writers. And, for God sake, give them names that aren't so silly.
Artz: Go on.
Trent: And while you are at it, could you give Trout a bigger office with a couch?
Artz: Sure, how about a TV and DVD player.
Trent: Great, I think hed really like that.
Artz: Is that it?
Trent: Well, now that you mention it; Id also like to have a girlfriend.
Artz: Forget it. If you want a girlfriend you can write your own story.
Trent: But you'll agree to the rest?
Artz: Why not. But you will have to make a few compromises too.
Trent: Such as?
Artz: Well, I can't change your voice so I will have switch the point of view from first person to omniscience.
Trent: OK. I don't have a problem with that.
Artz: Good. And if you want me to research the pieces more fully I won't be able to crank them out once per week. Ill need more time, maybe even a month apiece, at least during the trial period.
Trent: Trial period?
Artz: Sure. This will have to be a trial. What if it just doesn't work out?
Trent: How will we know?
Artz: We'll just have to try it for a while and then we can get together again and see how it is going.
Trent: Sounds fair to me. But, why are you giving in so easily?
Artz: Most people who read fiction believe that the author controls the characters. Nothing could be further from the truth. Characters develop in their own ways and the author, at best, can nudge a character in a desired direction and the character may or may not go.
Trent: What if you try to force a character?
Artz: It just doesn't work. Characters have a mind of their own and the author really does not have that much influence.
Trent: So you agree to make the changes?
Artz: Sure. Why not? - Anything to make the characters happy.
Trent: I'd be even happier with a girlfriend.
Artz: Like I said - forget it!
Trent: Thank you for your time and understanding.
Artz: No problem. You'll see the first piece in a month or so. It will take me that long to make the necessary adjustments.
I walked back to Foghorn office feeling pretty good about my self. When I arrived the office was deserted. It felt like everyone had just gotten up and left on the spur of the moment. Higgenbothom's chair was slightly askew and there was a little mud on the corner of his desk as though he had been sitting there with his feet up. A thick book was lying on the floor beside the chair. Sallys computer screen was displaying the unfinished word Wha... Altogether, it gave me an eerie feeling. But, I had asked for it so I was going to make the best of it.
I sat down at my computer thinking about what Artz had said. If I wanted a girlfriend I would have to write my own story. Hell, why stop with just one? I wondered out loud. I typed in the title The Many Loves of Maxwell Trent. Then I sat back to think about my story. Writing a story can't be all that hard. Artz does it all the time. But the story did not come to me. I just sat there looking at the title and couldnt get any further.
Another eerie feeling came over me and I had to shuffle my shoulders to shake it off. I felt as though there was another presence in the room. I felt even creepier as I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. I jerked my head to the left and saw a stranger looking at me. My racing pulse gave way to a nervous chuckle as I realized that the stranger was just my reflection in the full-length mirror looking back at me. At first, I hadn't even recognized my self.
I shook my head to shake off the shock and turned back to my computer. Maybe writing a story isn't all that easy after all. I leaned back in my chair to ponder the story and the days events until I drifted off into the refuge of slumber.