Writer’s Phantom

     If you are a writer, you know it’s both a blessing and a curse.  On a good day, the plot is clean, the dialogue is flowing, and your characters have meaningful development.  On a bad day, writer’s block smacks you in the face, ideas you once thought were good look awful, and every sentence you write is lost to the backspace button.  

     In my case… today is a bad day.  No no, everything I listed above is going splendidly.  I’m almost finished with the book I’ve been writing for two years now; the third book in my series.  The words I write aren’t garbage like they usually are.  The best part… I know how the story is going to end.  Writers know how hard that is to figure out and how good you feel after you finally plan an ending that actually makes sense and will satisfy your intended readers.  No, all that is great.  My only problem is that my headstrong, ‘don't tell me what to do’ protagonist is yelling at me in my head because she doesn’t want to follow my perfect plot.

     I am a writer who invests incredible time and effort into her characters’ complexity and relatability.  Over time, they become like real people to me.  I create them.  I get to know them.  I love them or hate them.  They matter.  They matter so much that they like to start dictating my writing as ever-present voices in my head.  Unfortunately, my protagonist is dictating the one thing in my plot I can’t get rid of.  She needs to destroy the antagonist in order for the story to have a happy ending and finish the way I want it to.  But I made the mistake of revealing the villain’s backstory, intended to complicate the reader's feelings towards my villain.  Upon learning it, the kind-hearted, stubborn, lovable, absolute thorn-in-the-side heroine I’ve created… doesn’t want to kill him.

     This isn’t the first time she’s opposed my ideas.  She has a bad habit of judging people to be kinder than they really are.  I suppose I was trying to be unique when I made her too trusting instead of completely untrusting as many protagonists are, but that has created problems for me and my characters.  

     Just because a villain loses everything doesn’t give him the right to take everything from you! I argue, leaning back against the pillows on my bed and rubbing my temples.  Around me, my bedroom flickers with the light of several candles, a tactic I use when I’m writing stressful scenes.  It can do nothing, however, to ease the second voice that invades my head to respond.

     He’s been through so much! My heroine argues, her voice loud and unnervingly convincing.  He’s been hurt so many times and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

     Oh, yes he does.  I scoff internally.  He has a solid reason for hurting people which means he’s fully aware of himself.

     There has to be another option!  My heroine pleads and I feel like I’m battling parts of myself I never knew were there.  This character is strong and outspoken.  She’s also good and pure.  And right now, she’s using all her force and willpower to try and bargain for the villain’s life. 

     There is no other option! I nearly shout.  If you don't kill him, he will kill everyone you love.  You have to do this, it’s the only way the story will have a happy ending.

     Everyone he loved was killed too.  My heroine states lowly and I hate the iron steel in her voice.  As if she’s confident she will eventually win this argument.  He’s a human being.  He must have empathy.  You wrote him so he’s balanced between good and evil.

     Maybe.  I admit reluctantly.  But a single bit can tip the scale.

     And maybe I’m that single bit.  My protagonist tries.  Maybe I can tip him just the little bit more he needs to stop destroying everything he touches.  I wince.  Because she’s right.  If she manages to say all the right things, she might be able to change the villain’s view.  

     But although he isn’t entirely evil, that is not how I built my villain.  His tragic background doesn’t change the fact that he has made it his mission to get revenge by destroying what my protagonist loves.  

     Please don’t.  I beg, attempting to switch my persuasion tactic.  We’ve been through three whole books together.  I’ve let you have your way so many times.  Let me make the decision for once.  This is the most important part of the book.

     Exactly.  She says.  Which is why I’m telling you the story can still change.  He doesn’t have to die.  I can make him see what he’s doing.  I can change the ending.

     My eyes narrow.  I am the author.  No you can’t.  I growl and suddenly my fingers are flying across the keyboard.  I know what to do.  

     What are you doing? My heroine whispers in my head as if she’s watching me type over my shoulder.  As if she’s standing in the middle of the battlefield I’ve created, watching as the villain seizes the heroine’s best friend and presses a knife to her throat.  NO!

     I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, a lump in my throat as I think,  Choose.  Either you kill him or he kills her.  I squeeze my eyes shut, open them again and suddenly she’s there.  My protagonist is standing across the room from me, a phantom of my own creation.  I see her the way everyone else in the story sees her; a bloodied, broken heroine in the middle of fighting a battle for her life.  Her chestnut hair is falling out of its braid in thin strands, her leather outfit ripped and dirty.  Multiple bruises and cuts mangle her face and arms and her olive skin is smeared with dirt and blood.  I force myself to meet her eyes.  

     The moment our gazes meet, I’m flooded with the emotions my protagonist is feeling.  Shock.  Hurt.  Anger.  Betrayal.  Betrayal.  Betrayal.  She glares at me, breathing hard, her already bloodshot eyes filled with tears.

     Traitor.  She whispers with nothing but loathing in her voice.  I trusted you.

     I feel a part of myself break in two.  I’ve written three books from this character’s perspective.  We’ve been together through ups and downs, stayed with each other until the end.  And now, this is how we end it.  My heroine hates me because she was too stubborn to do what I asked of her.

     But was it really her fault? I created her this way, I kept going even though I knew she would have too much sympathy for the villain.  I am fighting with a figment of my imagination.  Only I am at fault.

     I say nothing as my heroine makes her choice.  She looks at me a final time before disappearing from my vision and it seems like my fingers move of their own accord, typing the words as the villain drops dead.

     That’s it.  I won.  I got my way and the story will have a happy ending.  But inside my head, something has gone completely silent.  I realize now that from the moment I started writing my character, she became an ever-constant presence and voice in my mind, the most real part of my imagination.  Now… she’s gone.  I can’t feel her hovering over my shoulder as I finish the last chapters.  She doesn’t even come back when I write the epilogue, the window to the future of a family I’ve created for her.  The only thing that’s left is her last words ringing in my ears as if she said it out loud and not in my mind.  I lost her because I was so convinced I was the author of the story.  Now I realize that’s not true.  

     I am a writer.  And being one is both a blessing and a curse.