The Writing Process

Her name is Character 101, but she’s determined to change that.

 

Hair soaked in sweat and rain, her shoes smacking onto the pavement, lungs heaving. With every gasp she thinks of another name she’d rather have. Kelly. Kayla. Katherine. She’s been liking the letter K. Kylie. Krystal? It’s a game that distracts her from the burning in her thighs and the monotony of her neighbourhood—an endless suburban street, a road with symmetrical lines of one-storey houses along either side, the standard dwellings for all Characters. The houses are small, white, featureless, each with the same black-shingled roof and surrounded by a perimeter of green grass. As she trudges up a hill, blinking through the pain and rain, she curses the Author for creating her with nothing more than a thin T-shirt and shorts. Her clothes never change even if it’s a freezing, rainy day.

 

But she can bear it today. Today is the Selection.

 

At the top of the hill, Character 101 spots the house she’s looking for. Choking with relief, she staggers up to the door, where the number 214 is displayed. She knocks, clutching the side of her stomach.

 

The door swings open. A tall figure leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. His blue eyes take in the sight of Character 101—drenched, hair plastered to the side of her face—and he smirks.

 

“101. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

Character 101 shivers. She eyes his clothes. Character 214 is relatively new to the neighbourhood, but it must be true that the Author was equipping them better these days, what with his bulky jeans and thick winter sweater. Quality stitching and one-hundred-percent cotton. Character 101 forces a smile. “The weather. It’s trying to kill me. Can I come in?”

 

214 holds the door open as she marches inside. Despite their houses having the same exterior, 214’s house puts hers to shame. While hers is nothing more than a bed in a box, his has a separate bedroom, a kitchen with stainless steel appliances, and a dining table with four chairs—despite housing only one resident who doesn’t eat. It’s practically a Setting.

 

Character 101 halts, staring at the only similarity between their houses. A wall covered with words each Character has memorized since their creation—their Character Profile. Her Profile is short, covering only half the wall, but his is filled with floor-to-ceiling details of his PERSONALITY, GOALS, HOBBIES, and FEARS. Character 101 swallows, looking at the very top. While there once was the heading CHARACTER 214, it’s been replaced by a name: NATHANIEL WOODS.

 

She whirls around to face him. “I heard a rumour.”

 

“What rumour?”

 

“That you’ve been Selected.”

 

He nods, a hand on his chin. “Ah. That one.”

 

She points to his name on the wall. “You’re going to be the next protagonist!”

 

He breaks out into a grin. “I know.”

 

To transition from a character idea in the Author’s mind to one written to life on pages and enclosed in a book begins with the Selection.

 

It is the first stage, a sporadic calling of all interested Characters to be chosen as the cast of the Author’s newest novel. This is when Characters receive names, proper backstories, when they become more than a template. Sometimes the Author likes to be cruel, offering only one protagonist and a few supporting roles. Other times he decides he wants to write multiple POVs and requires just as many characters. Either way, it’s competitive, which Character 101 knows all too well.

 

She’s never made it past this first round.

 

She’s only heard about the second stage, Training, through recounts of those selected. Characters are taken into the established Settings, detailed models of wherever their story takes place—perhaps a school complete with individualized lockers and timetables, or a farm with horses, the smell of hay, and animal-shaped magnets on the refrigerator—to familiarize themselves with the environment and prep for their book. Settings are a far cry from these basic streets and boxy houses of those unselected.

 

Afterwards, once Training is complete, the Author begins writing the story into existence and the selected Characters along with it. They’re whisked into a book and experience life outside the Author’s mind.

 

Like Character 214, lounging in a chair by the dining table. Lucky bastard.

 

Character 101 clears her throat. “There’s also a rumour about me.”

 

“Pray tell.”

 

She smacks both palms onto his dining table. “That I’ve been trying to become the protagonist for the last hundred Selections. And might need some help with that goal.”

 

“I heard it was desperate help.”

 

She smacks his arm. “Yes, it is! So instead of making fun of me, do me a favor.”

 

Character 214 is already shaking his head. “Sorry, 101. I don’t have any inside sway with the Author. My Profile just happened to be in line with his newest protagonist. Besides, he won’t even have time to see me. He’s interviewing for the female protagonist today.” He tilts his head. “Shouldn’t you be at his office by now?”

 

“I’m on my way. I dropped by to pick you up.”

 

He raises a brow. “You want me to attend your interview with you?”

 

She groans, sinking into a chair. “I know—I’m desperate. But the Author likes you, clearly. He chose you. Vouch for me. I promise I’ll enrich your book. You’ve seen my Profile. You know my traits.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Fierce, humorous, persistent—just to name a few. We could be friends, partners in crime, or—” She leans forward, a glint in her eye. She trails her finger along the vein on Character 214’s hand. “Lovers.”

 

He smirks. “This is why you’re never accepted for Children’s. Too much flirting.”

 

“Good thing your book is Adult Fiction.”

 

“101—I’m sorry. I know you’ve been after this a long time. But I have to pack up my house today. I’m leaving for Training soon.” He pats her hand. “Besides, the Author would never make us lovers.”

 

Character 101 leans back. There it was—the implication that something is lacking. That she’s lacking. “Why not?”

 

Character 214 squints, studying her. He taps his foot for what feels like an eternity. “I don’t know. Gut feeling.”

 

She sighs, slouching back in the chair. Even if she knew what she was missing, she can’t change her Profile. Only the Author can.

She glances at 214’s Profile, then offers him a lopsided smile. “So. Nathaniel Woods.” How many readers will learn that name, reading his book curled up in bed, on the skytrain commute home, or in between the bookshelves of a library.

 

His face lights up. “That’s me.”

 

In the end, she can live without the nice apartment and she can suffer on rainy days, but the most enviable thing about Character 214 is that he’s Nathaniel and she’s still Character 101.

 

​
 

​

Character 101’s knee bounces up and down. She clenches her fists, nails digging into her palms, and stares at the Author’s office door in front of her, watching the flickering shadows from the pendant lights hanging from the arched ceiling. The walls are lined with polished wood paneling and an endless row of chairs seated by countless Characters awaiting an interview with the Author. Character 101 catches several of them glancing at her strangely. She recognizes nobody. Most familiar faces have long been Selected for novels, leaving Character 101 behind with the newest batch of Characters.

 

She recalls her early interviews, pacing back and forth in the hallway because she couldn’t contain her excitement. Once, after about thirty failed interviews, she smashed her chair into the Author’s door, breaking it. Now, she bites her lip and tries to dampen her lingering shred of hope.

​

Previous Selections, she imagined emerging out of her interview as Jo March, Clary Fray, or Hermione Granger. She hasn’t heard what the character’s name will be this time, but that doesn’t squash her imagination.

 

Maybe… Laura Wilcox, a university student who’s trying to discover what she wants to be.

 

Or Juliet Harris, who quits her job to travel the world.

 

Or—

 

“Character 101.” Her head snaps up. The silky voice came from inside the Author’s office, whose door now lies open. “Come in.”

She takes a deep breath. And marches in.

 

The door snaps shut behind her, leaving her alone with the Author. He glances up from his desk amid stacks of papers and notes scrawled on Post-its. She notes the new streaks of gray through his hair, the hint of stubble, and pale, worn-down skin. He once was the same age as her, but much time has passed since his first publication.

 

She, of course, remains the same.

 

He presses his lips into a thin line. “You again.”

 

She flashes a smile. “Lovely to see you, too.” She sits in the armchair before his desk. Her gaze snags at the wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves behind the Author, filled with the colourful spines of his completed books. Character 101 recognizes every title, has interviewed for a spot in each one, positions that went to other Characters to live lives and meet readers. She eyes the works-in-progress, the collection of books with blank spines yet to be completed. Those are her targets.

 

The Author opens a folder and flips through her Profile. “Character 101, applying for the female protagonist?”

 

She nods. “What’s her name?”

 

“Audrey Grace.” The Author snaps the folder shut. He folds his hands atop it. “Let me cut to the chase. I have many more interviewees. I know your Profile thoroughly by now. And so I am certain: you’re not an Audrey.”

 

She blinks. “You won’t even consider me?”

 

“You don’t look like an Audrey.”

 

She glares at him. “I didn’t look like a Hazel, Jude, or Annabeth, either.” She ticks her last three applications off on her fingers. “And each time I asked you why, you said the same thing. Gut feeling. Give me feedback, a reason—give me a chance this time.”

 

“You have a chance.” He holds up the folder. “You’re a Character, no? Your Profile simply doesn’t align with this story.”

 

“My Profile,” she begins, “only has the bare minimum. Where are my Goals? My Interests?”

 

“You have Interests.” The Author checks his papers. “You were President of the Math Club in high school.”

 

She lifted a finger. “One Interest. 214, your newest protagonist? He has seven. He’s developed. How do I compete with that?”

 

The Author narrows his eyes—blue eyes, the same shade as Nathaniel’s. “You’re insinuating there is some unfairness on my part, but I assure you there is none. I have different visions for each Character, including you, 101.”

 

“But what good is anyone without their story?” He’s the Author—surely he understands that. “Nobody will know I exist until I’m in a book. I won’t leave any kind of mark.”

 

“This is why you’re not in Children’s. Too much resistance.” His gaze hardens. “I’m the Author.”

 

“Technically you’re his subconscious.”

 

He spread his hands. “Same thing. I make all the decisions, whether he knows it or not. And I say you’re not Audrey.” With that he tucks her folder away in a drawer. It bangs shut. “Until the next Selection.”

 

How many more? Character 101 digs her nails into the chair. She can’t leave like this.

​

“Give me a name.”

​

At that, the Author glances up sharply. “I’m sorry?”

​

“If you won’t make me a protagonist and if you won’t strengthen my Profile, at least give me a name.”

​

A pause. “That’ll be difficult.”

​

“Why?”

​

The Author stares at her for a long time, searching her face for—what? But then he returns to his papers. “You’re dismissed.”

“A name, Author. That’s my request.”

​

As she leaves, the ever-present question lingers in her mind: Why can’t she be the protagonist?

​​
 

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At home, a parcel leans on her door, a long, flat rectangle. Tucking it under her arm, Character 101 reads the attached note from Nathaniel explaining that he dropped off a gift while cleaning out his apartment. She unwraps it, wondering what it is. Characters don’t have many belongings. The only thing she owns is a pair of glasses—useless, as it turns out her vision is perfectly fine. Another one of the Author’s inexplicable decisions.

​

She finally peels away the wrapping—and nearly drops it.

​

A face stares back at her. A girl with black hair and brown eyes, her mouth open in a shocked O, blinking rapidly.

​

For a moment, Character 101 freezes. So does the girl.

​

She raises her right hand. So does the girl.

​

After a moment, it dawns on her: it is her. She’s heard about this—mirrors. She thought they only existed in Settings.

But something catches Character 101’s attention, though she cannot pinpoint exactly what. She traces her brown eyes, cheekbones, and lips on the mirror. She squints at her reflection until she can undeniably conclude that something, something about the shape of her face is unique.

​

She brings the mirror close to her face, trying to figure it out, when her gaze lands on the reflection of the wall behind her, and her eyes widen.

​

She whirls around to face her Profile. Her breath catches as she stares and stares at it. At the top, CHARACTER 101 has been replaced by a name.

​

YEONG-SEO JIN.

​

The Author did it—he gave her a name!

​

Albeit a strange one. She’s never heard of a protagonist with that kind of name.

​

But, she notices, beneath her name, there is another change. Listed after Female, 5’5”, and Age 20 is a new attribute. It is unfamiliar, one she’s never seen before on her Profile or anyone else’s.

​

Asian.

​

Character 101 should be rejoicing in this small victory, of gaining a name. But as she looks back at her reflection, catching her own gaze, something, something makes her hesitate, and though she has a name, she wonders if she will ever become a protagonist with it.

​

Call it a gut feeling.