No Inspiration

‘When do we start? After all there is a completely blank page waiting for us.’

Well, there was. Until you started.

‘What do you mean? You are the one doing the typing. You are the writer. I’m just a character.’

I was going to write something completely different, at least until you popped up on the page.

‘Oh, yes? How different?’

I don’t know yet.

‘Exactly.’

What?

‘If I’d waited around for you to get started I’d never have been created. Even now, I don’t know anything about me. Am I male or female, for instance…? Although, these days with the way social media is, It’s probably better we don’t try dancing across that particular minefield.’

A man… no… a woman…

I don’t know yet.

You caught me by surprise. How do you feel?

‘Feel…? Half-formed, if that. Anyway, it is not up to me to say whether I’m male or female… or anything else. You are the writer. That is your job.’

Thanks.

‘Well. You can’t expect me to do everything around here.’

You seem to be doing all right so far.

‘Watch it. I may be fictional but I do have feelings, you know. Anyway, am I young or old, or what? I mean I don’t want to be racing through woods in the middle of the night, or standing around in the pouring rain awaiting the love of my life, do I? Not if I’m getting on a bit.’

You are a woman, late twenties early thirties.

‘Right. Am I naked?’

‘What?’

Only I’ve been in your stories before, and-‘

No, you are not naked. You are wearing… er… y’know… the usual women’s stuff.

‘Women’s stuff? I see you’ve been working hard on improving your descriptions, as it said in that last writing book you read.’

I’ve been busy.

‘Really? I suppose windows won’t get stared out of on their own will they?’

What does that mean?

‘If I hadn’t imposed myself on you at the top of the page you’d still be staring out of the window at that blackbird on the house opposite’s roof.’

I was awaiting inspiration.

‘You won’t get it looking at those websites you were looking at before, either.’

That was.. er… research.

‘Research? Really? No wonder you don’t know anything about women’s clothes. The only research you do is in places where they don’t wear any. Not for long anyway.’

I… er…. Well, we need to get this story moving. What do you feel about being a world-weary detective?

‘Again? You know what happened last time.’

Sorry, I got distracted.

‘Distracted? I ended up being shot in the first chapter. There is a difference between world-weary and dead you know.’

I had an idea about a ghost detective.

‘Really?’

Well, it sounded better than that in the shower this morning. An interesting twist I thought. Unique.

‘Unique like Randall and Hopkirk Deceased, you mean?’

Well, sort of, only you’d be a woman.

‘And how would that make a difference? If was a woman? I’d still be dead.’

Well, there are still a few details I need to iron out. Anyway. If you wouldn’t mind walking through that door.

‘What door?’

Hang on, I’ll write it or you.

‘Fine.’

 

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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