2.34 a.m. “Oh Frank what big hands you have!”
“Tina – wake up!” groans Keith, shaking my arm. “You are talking in your sleep again!”
I wake from my sweaty dream, my heart beating loudly. “Sorry Keith” I murmur.
6.34 a.m. I am up early doing some writing on one particular scene. I must have written this scene a hundred times.
Frank, my fictional character, who I am thinking about far too much these days, is being seduced by Vivian, my other fictional character. She is basically me…minus a couple of stone, a touch of plastic surgery and five years knocked off my age.
I am worried about my strong feelings for Frank. You see I have had these powerful feelings for my characters before. Richard, the Secret Agent, from my political thriller ‘Intrigue at No.10 Downing Street’ stole my heart.
Keith’s mother, to this day, still asks why she had to spend a lot of the book reading about Richard’s private life. According to Pamela, it had nothing to do with the plot. It does annoy me when people with no understanding of how a great literary mind works, lecture me. As I have explained to her on many an occasion, those three lengthy chapters on Richard were much-needed back story.
Pamela likes to argue with me and claims that a detailed account of Richard in the gym was unnecessary. I thanked her for the feedback and informed Keith that she would not be getting a homemade carrot cake out of me for her next church coffee morning. She will learn!
8.45 a.m. Keith has gone to work. I am busy doing some important Google research.
I am telling myself that lusting after a fictional character is nothing to be ashamed of.
Ok, there are a few writers online who are going through the same thing and have blogged about it. Panic over.
9.45 a.m. Just staring into space and wondering whether J.K Rowling experienced what I am going through with Sirius Black perhaps?
12.06 p.m. Those posts that I read earlier have opened the flood gates. I can’t stop thinking about Frank.
Just writing out a list of the things that attract me to him:
- Large hands
- Love of a fried breakfast.
- Deep voice
- An obsession for wearing cowboy boots.
I am happily ignoring the fact that Frank is evil. He kidnapped my other character, Vivian, with the intention of locking her away in his attic. Love makes you ignore stuff about the other person. I won’t go into what I am ignoring with Keith, we could be here all day.
Seriously though, I think I could change Frank, if we were dating, and turn him into a better person.
2.45 p.m. Having some thinking time whilst staring out of the window and watching the neighbour tinker with his flower beds.
11.45 p.m. “Oh Frank what fine cowboy boots you are wearing!”
“Tina please stop talking in your sleep!” groans Keith, shaking my arm till I wake.
“Sorry” I mumble.
“I got to work tomorrow so can you keep the noise down!” he moans.
7.34 a.m. Keith is busy eating his bowl of Sugar Puffs.
Margaret,the cat, and I are both sat at the table watching him.
I have to come clean. Keith has a right to know.
“Keith I have something to tell you” I say, hanging my head in shame.
He carries on wolfing down his Sugar Puffs.
“There is a 3rd person in our relationship” I say quietly.
“You mean Margaret” he says, chewing with his mouth open and pointing the spoon at Margaret. She hisses back at him. Margaret is not a morning cat.
“No” I say shaking my head. “Frank” I murmur.
“You mean that made up person in your book” he says, with a grin.
I gasp. “Frank is not just some made up person!” I shriek. “He’s…..so real…in my head!”
Keith goes back to shovelling Sugar Puffs into his mouth.
“Are you not going to say anything?”
“Is this normal for a writer to fancy their character?” he asks, in between mouthfuls.
“As I have told you before Keith I am not a normal writer!” I say with a sigh.
Margaret the cat hisses in agreement.
“I preferred your writer crush on Richard. It was fun for me role-playing a secret agent!” Keith says, leaping out of his chair and pretending to be the next James Bond.
“It wasn’t fun for me when we discovered your inability to scale the outside of a building!” I snap, recalling the two weeks he spent in hospital with his leg in plaster.
“Role playing some nutter obsessed with fried food and cowboy boots, who locks people in his attic for a few weeks wasn’t fun for me….although…” Keith pauses and looks at me with a hint of a smile.
“What?” I gasp.
“I did get some peace and quiet!” he grins and leaves for work, whistling.
There will be more from Tina next week. For other Tina stories please click here.
This was my entry into the Blog Battle contest run by Rachael Ritchey. If you want to enter or read other stories leap into her blog here.
The word was voice.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/43903625@N02/5526373297″>Anna</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>(license)</a>