The Author Argument

It all began with a warm, sunny day. Trella immediately scoffed. “Lame. You use this scene all the f*****g time.” The Author winced. “So…” Trella waved a hand. “Sooo… change it up a bit, I’m just saying.” Ignoring the interruption, the Author tried again. “Anyways, as I was saying, it was a warm, sunny day…” Trella plopped down her hands. “Yeah, right. And I’m just supposed to go on a walk? Nope. Not doing it.” “Come on, Trella,” the Author pleaded. “I want to put you in a nice scene. Stop pouting and do what I ask, please.” Trella rolled her eyes dramatically. “Alright, Author… fine.” She began walking. “Where am I going?” “Well,” the Author replied, “Trella decides to have lunch outside.” Trella stopped mid-step and shot back, “First off, the seat is burning my butt and second—you forgot the tomato on my sandwich!” “Oh for crying out loud, Trella,” the Author groaned. “Can you be more of a diva today? We’ve barely started!” Trella smirked. “What’s next, a big bad wolf is coming? Oh, come on, this is dumb. This is a Disney scene if I ever saw one.” Before the Author could respond, pigeons began circling around, attracted by crumbs from her sandwich. Trella kicked the nearest bird. “Go! Get out of here! I don’t share my food—I haven’t even had a bite!” “Trella!” the Author shouted. “Dammit, fine. What do you want to do?” Trella grinned. “I don’t know… something more exciting than a warm sunny day.” The Author exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of their nose. “Fine. Let’s start over. It’s a very cold, windy day.” Trella groaned. “Hold the hell on. I hate the rain. Where are we even at?” “Well, I haven’t gotten that far yet—” Trella cut her off. “You’re serious? I’m gonna get a cold and you have no clue about the setting. No wonder I’m stuck wearing rain boots and a raincoat. You know I hate the rain!” The Author twitched. “Fine. How about dry, warm scenery? Will that suit you?” Trella tapped her chin. “Stop narrating to me—it’s creepy. Also… how old am I? Do I have family, friends, a lover? You know, background stuff.” “Do you want a different story or not?” “Yes,” Trella replied immediately. “But something different. Nothing ordinary. Kidnappings, mysteries, never-ending twists… something that makes the reader beg for more.” The Author raised an eyebrow. “Go on.” “How about historical? Fantasy? Oh! And can I be wolf-like, with ears and a fluffy tail?” “You want me to erase everything just to make you a wolf?” the Author groaned. “Yup. Black ears. Black tail. And green eyes. Long hair. Also… boobs. Gotta attract the reader.” The Author pinched their temples. “Uggg… fine. Mist of the night?” “No,” Trella shot back. “Come on, meet me halfway!” “In the mist of the night,” the Author started cautiously, “Trella was eating the blood of the innocent as she wondered if the world howled at the moon.” “Hey moon, you suck,” Trella shouted. “Trella!” “Blood of the innocent? Really? What kind of monster is this?” “Oh my God. You wanted a wolf and I made you one!” the Author snapped. “Yea, for how long now?” “Shut up! Moon, get back to your story!” Moon huffed. “Hey, why have I been stuck here all these years while you do minor edits?” “I’m sorry! I’ll get to you, I promise,” the Author pleaded. “Now back to this story, Hugh, I’ve been writing this whole time!” “Fine,” Trella said, folding her arms. “But I’m not a monster. I want to be treated like a work of art.” “It was a dark, misty night,” the Author started again. “Trella was a half-breed…” “Half-breed? What, trying to say I’m not good enough to be pure? Nope. I’m done. Change me back. I don’t want wolf ears or a tail anymore.” “Oh my God. Fine. Two seconds.” “Jeez, what am I getting on, your nerves?” Trella snorted. “That’s it. Could you please stop while I’m trying to think?” “That’s a first,” Trella quipped. “Could you try to make this story good?” “We did things your way. Now, can we get back to the actual story itself?” “Look, Author,” Trella said, leaning closer. “If you’re serious, you have to stay focused on what you want.” “I’m trying!” the Author shouted. “And that’s my fault because?” “Because I’m trying to write!” Trella smirked, triumphant. “Exactly.”Author: sighs “Fine. Let’s start over. It’s a misty night, the wind whispers through the trees, and—” Trella: “Ugh, stop with the whispering trees crap. Are we in a horror movie or a cheesy poem you wrote in middle school?” Author: “I’m… trying to set the mood!” Trella: “Mood? Honey, the only mood here is how much I want to throttle you right now. Look, we do this my way. I want drama. I want flair. I want… something that doesn’t make me want to nap!” Author: “Okay, okay. Fine. Trella, you’re walking through the mist—” Trella: “Walking? Are we slow strolling to the grocery store? No. I stalk through the mist, like I own the night. Ears up, tail flicking. And maybe I toss a poor soul or two off a cliff because that’s dramatic.” Author: “…Uh, sure. You—uh—pass a shadowy figure?” Trella: “A shadowy figure? Honey, make it a vampire with attitude. And he better apologize for existing in my scene.” Author: “…Alright, vampire. They… step forward, mist curling around them.” Trella: “Mist curling? God, this is awful. They should float like they’re auditioning for a soap opera. And I glare at them like I’ll eat them if they blink.” Author: scribbles frantically “They… uh, notice your eyes. The green ones. And—” Trella: “Of course they notice. My eyes are gorgeous. Like, stop insulting me by pretending they’re not the main attraction.” Author: “…Right. Right. And the vampire bows slightly—” Trella: “Bows? No. They crawl on all fours like a cat being dramatic, dripping fog, snarling like they’re auditioning for a gothic rock band. Now that is atmospheric.” Author: muttering “I can’t believe I agreed to this…” Trella: “You agreed because you have no spine. Anyway, I step closer, claws extended—not that I need them. He’s trembling. I smirk. And maybe, just maybe, I throw him into the mist and disappear, leaving him screaming.” Author: “…Uh… okay. But—uh… readers need context—like, why is she doing that?” Trella: “Context? Honey, that’s my problem, not mine. They should know better than to stand in the way of fabulous.” Author: collapses in chair “You are impossible.” Trella: “And yet, here we are. You’re writing, I’m fabulous, and the readers will love it. Or they won’t. I don’t care. I know the truth: I’m the star, darling.”