Author's Note.



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Working Title: Author's Note

Sometimes when writing these snippets the characters can take on a life of their own. This can be the result of looking through a character's eyes for a little too long, trying to empathise a little too much, leading to the character having more say in how a story tells itself than the author.

Usually this is harmless enough, and can sometimes highlight vibrant new facets of an otherwise mundane part of the story. Sometimes, however, entire scenes can be hijacked...

The following is one such extract from a forthcoming addition to the The Story That May Just One Day Be Finished (Yeh Right!), TSTMJODBF(YR!)(tm) called "Citizen."

For obvous reasons, this version ended up on the cutting room floor.

[Apologies in advance to my brother. Marc, I really think your name is just fine. :-) ]

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Christine frequently came to this cafe on a Sunday morning for breakfast. This day in many ways was like every other, cool autumnal breeze softened by the sun's warm gentle caress. The usual crowd of regulars and tourists were also there, reading papers over orange juice, coffee and eggs, or talking at each other slightly louder than she really thought necessary on a weekend morning.

There were also considerate young couples bringing toddlers into the cafe, said toddlers quickly (and understandably) becoming bored and annoyed they were no longer the centre of attention so started loudly making their presence known.

Yes, this day in many ways was like every other, except this time her behaviour would be different. Just as soon as- ah, here he comes now. She slipped her sunglasses on and angled her head down as if immersed in the paper. Her now obscured eyes were indeed intent, but not on the paper.

Marc looked and felt as if he'd had a particularly rough night. Dark patches under the eyes hidden from the day's glare by sunglasses, stubble, and a not-insignificant hangover made for a grumpy boy.

"Hey listen up you!"

The regulars stopped their conversations or looked up from their newspapers at this strange man seemingly yelling at nothing. Several hands hovered near mobile phones ready to call the police or their therapists if things got out of hand.

"OI! Hey you!" [Me?]

"Yes you!" [Uh, Marc, I'm the author. I do your dialogue here-]

"I don't give a rats! Do you think for ONCE you could write me as NOT being some pathetic emotionally unbalanced dropout!? I'm getting sick of these hangovers, I'm getting sick of you always sitting me in the corner near spoilt brats noisy enough to make someone go celibate for life AND I'M SICK TO DEATH OF THIS PATHETIC NAME!!"

[You're not in Bedazzled, and I don't look anywhere near as good in a dress as Ms. Hurley, but be careful what you wish for...]

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... ah, here he comes now. She slipped her sunglasses on and angled her head down as if immersed in the paper. Her now obscured eyes were indeed intent, but not on the paper.

Wayne looked better than usual-

"Hold it! HOLD IT! What the HELL do you mean 'WAYNE'!? What next!? I suppose you're going to call her Sharon!? My dog's left testicle has more imagination than you do. Geez I'm glad I don't have to read the crap you write..." [Marc, Wayne, whatever, you don't have a dog.]

"What do you mean I don't have a- You wrote my dog out? YOU BAST-"



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... ah, here he comes now. She slipped her sunglasses on and angled her head down as if immersed in the paper. Her now obscured eyes were indeed intent, but not on the paper.

Peter looked healthier than usual and seemed to have a new balance and confidence about him, smiling and waving to some of the regulars, and engaging in vigorous face pulling, tickling, and babytalk with one or two of his friends' toddlers, much to their gleeful delight. Christine couldn't help arching one eyebrow and smirking slightly. Yes, this was quite a different person.

. . .

"What now!? You write me as a halfway decent person for once and you stop right there?" [I'm sorry Peter, I can't take it anywhere, you're just too boring this way.]

"What? Why you LITTLE SH-"



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... ah, here she comes now. She slipped her sunglasses on and angled her head down as if immersed in the paper. Her now obscured eyes were indeed intent, but not on the paper.

Cassandra looked healthier than usual and seemed to have a new balance and confidence about her, smiling and waving to some of the regulars, and engaging in vigorous-

"AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!"

[I think I need therapy.]