deelaundry | (no subject) (Reply)

Typing up an old original fic to show Sauty, and in another fic, I came across this passage that seemed especially relevant to my life just now. Writing about writing is such a damn cliche, but that's what this story was. The narrator of the story just wrote a few-hundred word passage about "Amanda," and then she says:

And then what? And then what happened? Oh, shit I've lost it. Shit.

I think that was a dream sequence, diary. I don't really know. I'd have to ask Amanda. But I can't because that short bit is all I know of her. I'm trying to call her up again, to find out what the playground is: reality, dream, metaphor, to make her tell me what happened to that little boy, but it's impossible. Amanda is gone forever, another character about whom I could write no more than a page.

I got a million of 'em, baby, and it bothers me. I should be able to control these people that I make up in my head, but I can't. They appear of their own free will and leave me when it suits them best. The only constant is me.