Schizophrenia

Okay.

This is how it goes. I’m the writer and you’re the character. That means I make the decisions and you do as I say. Why can’t you just get in line with the rest? Why do you have to be so difficult? And why are you trying to make me write a book about YOU? This isn’t about you, Seth! This isn’t your story. Actually, you’re lucky you even have a name, you know. You should be glad you’re not just some [other guy] who barely features at all. So instead of rebelling I think you should be grateful.

You see this notebook? This list here half a page long? That’s stuff I needed you to do. It’s all the things I need you to say or evoke or let me describe so that I could make this go where I wanted. Instead you turn around and decide that instead of creating a friendly bond with the girl, you’re going to attack her. What the HELL, Seth?! I thought we had a deal. I gave you a name and a spot on stage and all you have to do is follow the script.

*Sigh*

Well, yes, I know it’s too late to change it now. It’s 2,000 words you’ve been stringing me along and then suddenly you start being unhelpful. Look, I’m glad you’re here cause you’ve gotten me writing again. And blogging. But you can’t just derail everything. That’s not okay.

And no, I’m not going to make you more handsome.

Stop. Asking.