Tuesdays with Story

Fifth Tuesday Stories
July 29, 2014

Writing Challenge: What if your character could tell you what he or she thinks about your writing? Maybe she doesn’t like how you portrayed her, or he hates what you’re doing to his life in the story. Your character’s rant or diatribe is your 250 word challenge piece.

King of the Pectrites
Katelin Cummins, 2nd and 4th

My name is Pectitus, king of the Pectrites.
I am telling you because I think you have forgotten.
Do you not realize that this is my race’s last and only hope for survival?
Do you WANT us to die and become extinct?

You must, otherwise you would not have manipulated this whole operation to blow up in my face.
You caused all of this.
Everything is too perfectly conspired against me to be chance.
How else would random teenagers just happen to intercept my Power Rock?
Why else would it happen to be so impossible to transfer the powers back to me?
You are against me, against my whole race, like the Loyloit.
A stealthy, predator Loyloit, toying with me before the kill.
A mind controlling Loyloit, trying to trick me into accepting defeat and slavery.
You think you have weakened me by allowing children to ruin my plans.
By orchestrating numerous humiliating defeats.
By turning my wife against me, then taking her away.
But we, the Pectrites, are stronger than that.
I will not let my people die!
And I will defeat even you to survive.

Angry Character Rant
Liam Wilbur, 2nd and 4th

“Hey, Author guy! Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you! I can’t BELIEVE some of the shit you’re trying to do to me, man.

First, you kill me and the family I’m happy with, right after letting me be an emancipated minor for TWO SECONDS!

Then, you go and stick me in the hospital for-fucking-ever, dump me with my brother – who is a total ASS, by the way- and make me have PTSD! Dick move!

The worst thing, though, is you put me back in HIGH SCHOOL as a fucking FRESHMAN! I FUCKING HATE HIGH SCHOOL! It’s so fucking Twilight I wanna puke! What MORON thinks that shtick is even cool anymore?

Not only that, but the school is run by idiots, a stupid cult tries to brainwash me, I get beat up, chained to ceilings and tortured! And then you kill me, AGAIN, with POISON! I’m sixteen, you sick fucking bastard!

Gah! I’m so angry right now I can’t even talk anymore.

FUCK YOU, AUTHOR MAN! GET THERAPY!”
Scott McQuaid walks away into the ether of my brain, slamming the door behind him in a furious teenage temper tantrum.

MY NAME IS LES GOLDBERG
Millie Mader, 1st and 3rd

I know I don’t look my 60 years of age. How can my creator insinuate that I use Just for Men? Yeah, I touch my hair up a bit. It’s better than that purple stuff that old ladies use. They’re way older than me anyway. And my writer always has to make fun of my smile and my gleaming teeth. It costs a bundle of dentistry to keep them white. I could pass for half my age—uh, nearly..

I admit I’ve had three wives. Well here’s the story. The first wife was too old for me, even if she was my age. She still liked the ‘big band’ sound. I was getting into the ‘rock and roll’ scene. Besides, my new secretary put the make on me. I couldn’t help but be flattered. It was right after I was made manager. I later found out that she thought bank managers made a lot more than they do. We split, and she ran off with a new CEO. I was happy to see her go. She was too expensive to keep up—beauty products, clothes, and partying. Good riddance.

Third wife was really just too young and greedy. I was a CEO by then. Thank God there were no pre-nups.

******************

Now I’m really salivating over Erin. She’s so gorgeous—and oh, that little behind. She wasn’t even impressed with my new Corvette. All my plans for Erin are frustrated. And her missing fiancé, so what? Come on, creator, quit calling me a letch. Give me a break.

Mr. Davis’ Complaint
JG McNeil, 1st and 3rd

Hello, out there. Mr. Davis here, from “My Mother, Savior of Men”. Well, on behalf of us senior citizens who may not be in the best shape, I resent Ms. McNeil’s portrayal of me as an old geezer who is trying to make it with Marie, ridiculously baiting her with candy. I’m an old man on a stingy Social Security check and don’t have money to buy jewelry or cosmetics. I’ve been a neighbor to this woman for damn near 10 years. I’ve grown to like her, even before my wife died. I mean, like her like a friend, while my wife was alive. My wife passed away two years ago, and well I still want companionship. And why would I travel three hundred miles on the Greyhound to Marie’s party without a decent gift? I’m not that poor.

For her to write my character this way, Ms. McNeil must have had some crappy boyfriends, but I wish she wouldn’t punish me as a result. I hope she puts me in a community center where I can meet some other ladies, as well. It would definitely help me to stop fixating on Marie. If not, I wish she’d have Marie at least go out with me and give me a chance with her.

Found in the author’s suggestion box
Jerry Peterson, 1st and 3rd

Found in the author’s suggestion box

It was a letter written in pencil, addressed to me as:

Dear author, sir or ma’am . . .
You have made my life excessively difficult.
Do you remember in the first book you wrote about me, you had me fall through a rotting step and tear up my shin, then an angry woman hit me in the side of the head with her purse?
Do you also remember you had me chasing a bank robber at a football game? He went over the top of the stadium and escape by sliding down a rope. Me? I burned my hands sliding down the same rope after him, ripped the skin away from my palms and fingers.
In the next book, you wanted me to bust my knuckles, bashing a hole in a wall. Praise the Lord, your friends in your writers group talked you out of that. Still, you got me up in an airplane, and you know I hate flying. Remember what happened? I threw up all over myself. Later, in another airplane – a cargo plane in winter – you had me sucked out of the back and somehow I broke my leg. You did save me by having me fall into a snowdrift, but still I was stranded out there for days, trying to get myself found.
Well, Mister, Miss, or Missus Author, in future books, if you intend to continue banging me around, I want major medical and hospital insurance.

James Early
sheriff, Riley County, Kansas