The Helpful Character

THE HELPFUL CHARACTER

Jewels sat at her desk, rocking slightly in her ergonomic chair. The chair looked incongruous with the antique oak desk, but Jewels wasn’t in the least bit concerned about this paradox of ultra-modern and antique. She was aware that from a design point of view, the two pieces together were an abomination. Her designer sister had certainly told her this often enough. The fact of the matter was she couldn't care less. What she was concerned about was the comfort and functionality, and with Jewels, function always won out over fashion.

She typed away rapidly on her laptop, not caring about spelling, grammar, or punctuation at this time. Her main objective was to get the plot of her novel down and work out some of the dialogue. She thought she felt a gentle presence in the room with her at the moment, but she was on a roll and chose to ignore it.

She completed her paragraph and turned slightly. Hannah leaned over her left shoulder, shaking her head at the affront to her senses. The inaccuracies were not merely literary but also historical.

“No, no, no. That is all wrong. It makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Be quiet, Hannah. I know what I am doing.”

Jewels pushed a stray lock of hair from her face and attacked the keyboard with gusto.

Moments later, the lock of hair fell back across her face, and she once again scraped it away, tucking the strand behind her ear.

“How many times have I told you that a nice, neat bun would serve you well when you are working on our book?”

“Our book? So it’s our book now?” Jewels gave an unladylike snort. “Give you an inch, and you take a mile. I ask you one time for just a little bit of help, and you think it's now … our book.”

“I have no idea what you are referring to, as usual,” Hannah said primly. “I was merely suggesting that if you came to your, what is it you call it, oh yes, your workstation, dressed appropriately and groomed yourself properly, your hair would not grieve you so. I am sure that no one can do their best when they don’t look their best.” She shook her head. “Just look at you, dressed in your night attire, and here it is almost noon time. Your desk is in an appalling state as well. You have writing implements hither and yon. Food scraps adorning plates. Papers and what do you call them, oh yes, sticky notes…all over the desk and walls. I declare, I can certainly understand why you can never find things that are right in front of you. Like this morning when you were looking for that contraption you talk on all the time. There it was, right in front of you. If it had been a snake, it would have bitten you. Shameless is what it is. Downright shameless. Well, it just goes to show you that you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.”

“Now what's that supposed to mean, Hannah? Are you calling me a pig?” Jewel's face was flushed in anger.

Hannah took a step back and extended her hands in front of her as if to ward off evil.

“Well, if the shoe fits…wear it,” Hannah stated.

“I think I have just about enough of your insults for one day. I have a good mind to write you out of my book altogether.”

“Ha! You can’t do that, “exclaimed Hannah. “You are on Chapter Six, and you hate to rewrite, and I am an integral part of the story. The main character, as it were.

“Ha! Right back at you. That’s where you are wrong. Clive is the main character.”

“But I’m his…lady love. The female lead. Clive’s love interest.”

“Well, I could still keep Clive as my protagonist and give him a new love interest. Someone sweet and gentle, and not so opinionated, and not as mouthy as you.”

“No! You wouldn't dare.”

“You don’t think so. Beatrice would be her name.” Jewells nodded.

“No, you wouldn't.”

“Oh! Wouldn't I?”

The two faced off, sizing each other up. Wondering exactly how far each would go to get her own way.

“Clive will call her Trixie, and she will be biddable and sweet. None of this talkback from Trixie.”

“Ha, you can't do that, this book is a sequel to our first book, and everybody loves Hannah. The readers wouldn't want to read a story about some biddable, mealy-mouthed female.”

“They might,” said Jewels, feeling just a little insecure about this new idea.

Hannah heard Jewel's hesitant tone and capitalized on it. “No, that dog won't hunt; you are barking up the wrong tree with that idea. The readers love me.” Placing her hands defiantly on her hips, she preened in front of Jewels.

“Why, one book critic said I was a spunky miss, a woman ahead of her time. A woman with not only grit and gumption but also grace, and I’m pretty sure that being spunky is a good thing.”

“Besides, you have just spent the last half hour typing inaccuracies. If I weren’t around to help you, you would be up a creek without a paddle.

“Oh Yeah!” returned Jewells defiantly.

“ Yes, the number of historical inaccuracies in the last paragraph alone are …

Jewels swiveled in her space chair and stared at Hannah, taking in her long dress and pristine white apron. A poke bonnet adorned her head. On her arm was a small basket with apples in it. A shawl crossed over her chest, an indication of the chilly weather in Shaws Creek a hundred years ago.

She herself was dressed in pajama shorts, fuzzy bunny slippers, and a spaghetti strap tank top.

“Another thing, if we are talking about inaccuracies. Hannah pointed to the last paragraph. Why am I walking around with a basket of apples that I am supposed to have just picked if it's springtime? Don't you even know that apples are harvested in the fall, and why is Clive…

“Ok, ok. Maybe I would have picked that up on one of my edits. But listen to this. Maybe in the third book, that sequel will have your face disfigured. How do you like those apples? I could do that, you know. A couple of well-written sentences, and you are no longer the oh so pretty pioneer woman.”

“You needn't get testy about this. Let's face it, Jewels, you need me. Beatrice is just a silly girl who doesn’t have her head screwed on tight enough. She could never tell you these things and help you like I can. You need me.”

“You're right,” Jewels sighed. I need you, but you need me too. Let's finish the book together.”

Hannah plucked at the bonnet on her head. “And another thing, this bonnet wasn't even around till much later in history. And Clive would never say that to me. She leaned over the desk and pointed to the paragraph on the laptop. Clive may be a man from the country, but he is still a gentleman. Also, look here, where Clive mounts his horse. You mount from the left side, not the right.”

“Ok, ok, so I made a couple of mistakes.”

“A couple?” questioned Hannah.

“Hey, I don’t need my character giving me sarcasm,” snapped Jewels.

“These boots that you’ve got me in, they should lace up in the front and not have some shiny metal. contraption on them.”

“Okay, so I made a minor mistake with the zippered boots.”

“You have Clive and me going to the mercantile store on a Wednesday, and then you have us going to church the next day. Since when did the Lord’s Day come on a Thursday and not on a Sunday?”

“Lord help me,” said Jewels. “Save me from fickle characters that leap off the page and criticize my every word.”