My Author’s an Idiot


My name is Ian Anderson. I don’t know why, but I’m a pirate. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a harsh, cruel life, but I’m here, and I’m a pirate, and I can’t do a single thing about it. All I can and am allowed to do is protest, but even then, the words are not my own.

They are my author’s.

So, I guess you could say I’m a puppet, but that’s such a derogatory term. I am not a mindless ‘thing’ on strings taking up space, but instead am a thinking, talking and moving character…I just have a limited amount of freedom.

For example, in the story that I participate in, I am a crewmember aboard a pirate ship. I express my desire to my author to monkey up and down the rigging, stand in the crow’s nest and be the one to raise the Jolly Roger flag. But my words fall upon deaf ears!

I am banished to the hull where I am an apprentice craftsman, always fixing and sealing and resealing the hull of the ship. If Author can give me such a boring job, I don’t see why she can’t make Captain a better captain. He’s the reason my job is so tedious, because half the time I do repairs, it’s because the man told the helmsman to ‘continue heading starboard!’

I’m no captain, but I do know that if you keep heading starboard, you will, eventually, run into a reef! Honestly! How many times must Author allow our ship to be struck by a reef just because she put that incapable weasel in charge of the ship?!

And the crew? Let me just say that we’d have better luck running this ship if the crew consisted of the huge rats that live in the bilge. They know more about this ship than we do! And they’re quite the pirates, too; sneaking aboard and pillaging our food and rifling through our clothes, biting holes whenever they can. Ai!

But, as I said, it is futile for me to complain. I’m complaining right now, and Author is actually laughing! Want to know why? Because she’s writing! And she thinks it’s so funny to see me complain and know that there is nothing that I can do about my situation. I can’t believe those words are coming out of my mouth, but, alas, they are.

Since I’m a pirate, Author seems to see it fitting that I talk and walk and dress like one. I’d wager I’ve got the talking part down, and she’s already given me a swagger, so that leaves the garment issue. Would you care to know what she dresses me in? A leather vest, and Capri pants (the Capri’s are nice, actually, because longer pants tend to get in the way). But honestly, a vest? Nothing more? I’d feel much more modest if I were given a shirt, but Author rests her case in the fact that the vest will keep me cooler during the day. I argue about nighttime. She tells me to curl up with a blanket. However, she seems to forget that she wrote the rats into the story, and she made the rats chew holes into what little blankets there are!

And no shoes!

But, ah, she is telling me now that I should finish up this rant. I suppose I have to agree, seeing that I have no other choice, and I wouldn’t want her to get mad at me and write me getting eaten by a shark, now, would I? Oh no. She seems to like that idea.

Okay, well, to hurriedly finish this, I shall leave you with this: Authors, please be kind to your characters! We have only the comforts you give us, and cannot run away from the misfortunes. (Though we may try, but then we may find ourselves being written into a terrible trap, or drowning in a flooded river!) And characters, obey your Authors. I fully realize you have no choice, but if you keep your mouth shut, you just might avoid death!

Farewell!


*10 minutes later*

My author is an idiot. Why, you ask? She forgot to hide her password for her computer. ?