Re: 13

Too busy (and lazy) to write more story today, but some ramblings on what’s going on.

I think I need to work in more back story demonstrating how tightly wound Colleen is. Can’t just say it, gotta show it. After all, for character evolvement to work, we need to spell out where the character is evolving from.

She has barriers and defense mechanisms she’s perhaps not fully aware of. Don’t we all like to believe we’re one of the “normal” ones. “Anti-social” and “odd” are labels for other people, not us.

Will love set Colleen free? Maybe, maybe not, but surely it will unwind her a bit.

Will Colleen get hurt? Oh, c’mon, of course she will, isn’t it inevitable? The big mystery is where she evolves from that. I certainly don’t know, we will just have to watch and see what she does.

What about Ben? Are you serious? Nobody cares about Ben. He’s not flushed out yet, but let me give you an advance peek. Peter Pan. Some men never grow up. Cursed with perpetual adolescence. They may have a job, drive a car, and other grown-up stuff, but at their core, dysfunctional. Don’t expect much character evolvement from Ben. He’s Colleen’s foil. That’s what he’s here for.

How do I know so much about Ben? Besides being his author, he’s like me in many ways. I don’t intend to grow up either.

But Ben is not me. Big differences. Starting with where the story is going. I don’t have what it takes to seduce Colleen. Aw, the benefit of creative license.

We left off at the party. Obviously, Ben is going to drive Colleen home. Fast forward to the bedroom. Colleen is drunk and may make advances.

I hate the movie cliche where the guy is a saint, tucks the girl in, sleeps on the couch. Excuse me, what sort of Pleasantville planet do script writers think we live on. Ben is not one of those saints. He’s along for the ride until Colleen passes out. Ben may not be a saint, but he’s not a rapist either.

Another movie cliche which drives me absolutely bonkers is the coy little morning after banter, did we/didn’t we do it. That’s not even Pleasantville, I don’t know what planet that is. Unless I was fed a handful of roofies, my vagina tells me whether or not I’ve had sex. Okay, I don’t have a vagina, but if I did, it would know. Ben and Colleen will banter, but not about that. They are not from planet obtuse.

I’m waiting to find out if Colleen still jumps Ben’s bones while sober, or if woundtootightedness or decorum get in the way.

Look at that. Didn’t feel like writing, but put some words down despite myself.


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