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“Okay, that should do it. Say something please,” the sound guy states.
“Okay, uh, hi. My name is Soren… I’m 5’11” and I live in an apartment above a pizza place… is that enough?” The man nods and heads off mumbling to himself.
Soren is waiting to be interviewed on yet another morning television talk show. He can’t even remember this one’s name. He’s been getting a lot of invitations lately.
“Hiya, Soren,” beams a producer-type fellow. “We’re absolutely delighted that you chose us over channel 7. You won’t regret it! Our viewership is significantly more engaged and…” Soren smiles and nods. He’s heard this spiel at least a half dozen times. It’s better if he doesn’t say too much about how he picked them.
Alpha-numerical order.
Eventually, the producer heads off, and Soren is left on the big, squishy couch with some packaged snacks and a designer bottle of water.
He looks around at the crew preparing for show time in only a few minutes. The staff sees all walks of life every morning from the rich and famous to the previously unimportant people like Soren. Each crewmember does their job quickly and efficiently, and is careful to uphold the most important rule of their profession:
“Don’t talk to the talent.”
So Soren sits alone, watching the room fill up with people. No cheerful chatter for him to join in about the weather or sports wins and losses… not that he would’ve joined in anyway.
The studio audience continues to file in, whispering excitedly about what they might see today. Soren gives a polite smile when someone makes eye contact but then looks away like he’s interested in something else.
It’s amazing that people still don’t recognize him after all these appearances in the past few weeks. It seems that even in his fifteen minutes, or days, of fame, he’s still not that notable.
At least, until they realize what he can do.
The “Recording in Progress” sign turns on and the house lights lower to their dimmest. One of the camera operators counts down and the stage lights rise to full, pulling every audience member’s eyes forward.
The host walks in with her folder of papers under one arm, beaming at the cameras. “Good morning!” She shouts happily.
“Good morning!” The audience responds, clapping loudly and cheering without the need for the “Applause” sign’s reminder. The host walks to her chair beside the desk, drops her folder and shakes Soren’s hand with both of her’s.
“Welcome, Soren! Thank you for being here!” She beams at him now, and he can’t tell if it’s the stage lights or the intensity of her gaze that makes his face feel warm.
“Thanks—Thanks for having me,” he stammers. The audience applauds politely. She sits and opens her folder.
“Many of you might not recognize our esteemed guest, Soren here, but you’ve definitely heard of some of his friends: Harry Potter,” she holds up the cover of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, “Gandalf the Grey,” she holds up a poster of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, “and many others.” she leafs through several other papers, showing off a dozen other prints of immensely popular series. The audience cheers louder with each one she shows until she finally tosses them all into the air. She spreads her arms wide for effect as each paper flutters to the ground like oversized confetti across the black stage. “Yes! This is him! The young man who’s brought your favorite fictional characters to the real world: to life!” She stands and claps, looking at Soren as the crowd nearly explodes in their excitement.
Soren sees a few young ladies sobbing, looking around to see if their favorite character will come walking in. He learned early on that bringing any of them with him was a bad idea; the host usually forgets he’s even there when Aragorn or Hermione walk out on stage.
The host exaggerates a deep, stabilizing breath to a chorus of chuckles, and sits back down. She crosses her hands over her knees expectantly.
Soren waits for the first question.
“So… how did this happen? Were you struck by lightning? Did you touch an alien artifact? Or were you, perhaps, bitten by a radioactive bookworm?” Everyone laughs. Even Soren smiles; he actually hasn’t heard that one before.
“No… um, I wish the story was more interesting… but it’s not really.” The host smiles and nods, inviting him to elaborate without interrupting. “Well, I’ve always read a lot… and I started to feel this urge to write that wouldn’t go away no matter how much I ignored it.”
“Boiling up within you like a primal instinct.” She adds articulately.
“Uh, yeah, that’s a better way to say it… sorry; I’m better on paper.” The host nods with a knowing expression.
“Yes, your skills literally speak for themselves!” The audience laughs and she chuckles. “But please, continue.”
“I wanted to write something that people would like. Something that never existed before—something that mattered…” Soren looks out at the audience and is surprised to see that they’re hanging onto every word he says.
“But I didn’t know where to start… so I wrote a dozen stories that didn’t cut it, and then a bunch of other formats like poems, essays, scripts and anything wise I could think of…” The host tilts her head in interest and Soren continues. “So after all that, and being about ready to go out and burn every notebook and pencil I had ever used to write, a thought popped into my head: ‘why not just write the best there is?’”
Some of the audience members look at their neighbors in confusion.
“Uh, which I know sounds dumb out loud, but it was an epiphany at the time.” She nods again as if to say ‘Go on, we’re listening.’
“What that meant to me was: maybe if I tried to do what my favorite authors had already done… I’d probably get better. So I started copying out all my favorite books—word for word.” He looks out at the audience and back at the host. “I would sit with the book open beside me and I would copy it down verbatim. I didn’t make edits, or parodies, or new versions; I wanted to imagine what it felt like to write ‘You’re a wizard, Harry,’ for the first time, or to build the battle scenes in The Return of the King, and all the most amazing things I had ever read. After I finished one book, I moved onto the next, then the next, and the next until I had reams of my beloved, bootlegged copies shoved into an overflowing shelf in my bedroom.” Everyone leans in closer, the tension building in the room, every person aching to understand this miracle.
“So how did it happen… the first time they visited you?” She looks deep in his eyes, willing him ahead.
“It was my mom, actually.” The audience chuckles, the tension breaking. “Yeah, no radioactive bookworm.” The audience laughs again in earnest. The host tips an invisible hat at him and Soren laughs.
“I was at a family reunion and was off by myself, writing out the sixth Harry Potter book for the second time, and my mom asked if I would let my cousin see what I was doing. My family all thought it was pretty weird that I was just copying books out, so she was trying to get me to interact with someone, I guess.” The audience chuckles again.
“My little cousin was just learning to read, so I flipped to a less scary part in the book and read him a little… and that’s when it happened.” Soren looks down at his shaking hands then looks back up to the awaiting audience. “I looked up, and Ron Weasley was sitting there next to us, just listening and smiling.” The audience and the host take a breath in unison.
Every news outlet in the world has been broadcasting about this for nearly three weeks now. The host glances at the papers on her desk
“…‘Brilliant, I love this part!’ is what he said, if my notes are correct?” she asks. Soren nods. “Wow… just, wow. What a remarkable experience! But how did you know it was him?”
“No, I dunno; I just knew it was him; I guess I knew him so well that I would’ve known him anywhere.”
“And you’ve been able to repeat this process with now dozens of stories and dozens of characters…just, wow! I’m speechless!” A voice in the audience shouts out:
“Can you set me up with Neville!?!” The rest of the audience breaks out in laughter.
“I don’t think it works like that, does it?” The host asks rhetorically. Soren shakes his head and there’s a sad sigh from the audience in unison followed by another chorus of laughter. “So what does happen? What happens to the characters after they appear?”
“They spend a couple of hours just chatting with you, asking you about your life, your dreams, and stuff. Then they disappear again.”
“Do they remember you between trips? Are they reliving their stories over and over? Are they real beings from another universe? I’m sorry for all the questions, but we have to know!” The audience applauds in agreement. “If that’s not too personal, or…” Soren shakes his head.
“No, it’s not too personal… it’s hard to answer though. Because it’s like they remember you the first time. It’s like you’re old friends.” The host smiles at his comment. “They don’t really say anything about what happens when they’re away; they always turn the conversation back around until you’re talking about you.” The host snaps her fingers with an exaggerated ‘aw, shoot’ expression to the cameras.
“Well, regardless of the answers we can or can’t get, meeting all our favorite characters through you is truly an amazing gift you’ve given all of us. So thank you on behalf of all the people here and at home.” She starts clapping and the whole room explodes into an appreciative applauds.
Once the people settle down, she turns back to Soren. “Also, as a side note, we’re very happy that you didn’t release Sauron or… He Who Must Not Be Named into our midst.” She exaggerates a shiver and the audience chuckles. “That would’ve been a terrifying couple hours.” She arranges her papers nearly. “But, the biggest question I have is: if your gift is to bring characters you write to life… when will we get to meet some of your characters?”
In all of his appearances, cameos, and interviews, no one has ever thought to ask him that.
“Um, I’m not sure… I don’t really know what would even happen, honestly. Nothing comes to life when I read my own stuff.”
“Ah, well, you never know how your stories will affect people until you send them out into the world!” She smiles and looks up at the clock. “But it looks like we’re out of time,” she turns back to Soren. “It‘s been a pleasure to have you on the show. Please do come again soon.” The audience cheers in agreement.
“Uh, sure. That would be nice.”
“Thank you so much, and the afternoon show begged me to ask you if you would be willing to stay for their first segment? We wouldn’t want to keep you longer than you intended, but…” Soren shrugs. He has nothing else to do until his plane takes off this evening, so he agrees. “Then thank you all, and we’ll see you after the break!”
The people cheer and the red light on each camera goes dark. The host turns to him and smiles again. “You did great. I really do hope you come back some time.” And she gets up and heads off to her dressing room.
A lady with a clipboard walks up briskly. “Soren, there are refreshments in the VIP lounge if you’re comfortable mingling with some of our VIP Club members?” Honestly, Soren is feeling a little worn out from being in front of so many people, but his stomach rumbles before he can decline.
“That sounds good, actually.”
“Excellent, follow me.” The assistant leads Soren through several busy hallways full of dozens of people performing their diverse tasks.
He’s invisible once again.
The two of them arrive at a modern, mid-sized lounge with a couple dozen people milling around the decadent display of treats and beverages. A few of them walk over to shake Soren’s hand.
“You were great! I wish you had brought Percy Jackson with you!” And “That is so cool! Do you do speaking events—I’d love to meet Katniss!” And “I’m so jealous that you get to know them all! Especially Neville.” Apparently, that was the Neville fan.
He smiles and shakes all of their hands. Snacking on cheese and crackers in between mumbled comments. One person even asked if Soren would bring Edward Cullen to visit them right there; he hasn’t copied that one out yet, though.
Finally, after almost everyone has had the chance to ask him their questions, a young lady steps forward shyly hugging a notebook to her chest.
“Hi Soren, it’s nice to meet you; I think you did great on the show. I love how every time you tell it, you make it sound like it’s the first time anyone’s ever heard it… I’ve seen all of your interviews, and I think this was the best one you’ve ever done.”
“You’ve watched my other interviews? Yikes.” he scratches the back of his head. “Some of those were pretty rough.”
“No! You were just being yourself! And it’s weird to be in front of tons of people, so I think you did great considering the circumstances.” She smiles and looks down. “When I heard that you might be coming here I signed up for the VIP club just in case…” Her cheeks turn a little pink.
“Wow, thanks… I think you’re the first person who’s remembered me after the show ended.”
“I think a lot of people remember you… at least I do, anyway.” she looks down again. “Um, I wanted to know what kind of stuff you write… I like to read and write too.” She smiles and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
“Um, yeah, thanks for asking. I guess I write all sorts of stuff…” she nods, listening intently. “My most recent story is about a guy who grew up in a circus, who wants to run away and join a law firm. It’s just silly but—” he’s interrupted by the young lady’s genuine laughter.
“That sounds so cute! Or, uh cool, I mean.” Soren smiles.
“No, yeah, it’s pretty cute. He wants to do it to impress a girl, so yeah…” he shrugs. “What do you write?” she shrugs back.
“I have a blog where I review stuff, so mostly non-fiction and interest piece stuff. Nothing too big.” she trails off and they stand there in silence for a moment. “I’d love to read your story sometime… if you’re letting people read it. I could review it too if you wanted… but I wouldn’t have to—mostly I just want to read it.” she rushes the end, blushing again.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’d like that.” Her face breaks out in a big smile. “I can pull it up on my phone while I’m waiting for the next segment.” She smiles even bigger.
“That sounds perfect!” She scribbles down her email on a page in her notebook and rips the page out to give to him. “Um, I put my cell on there too; in case you prefer texting it, or whatever.” She blushes a little again.
Soren can’t believe that a girl as pretty as she is would be so nervous around him.
“Sounds great… I’ll text you when I send it.” She smiles, hugs her notebook to her chest again and nods. Then she turns and heads out the audience door without another word.
Now he just needs to do some spitfire editing. Why did he mention the newest story!?
He sits down and takes out his phone.
***
A few hours later, long after the afternoon show’s final applause, Soren enters the Town Car that the studio has commissioned for him. It’s been a long day, but a good one.
He sent the circus boy story to the young lady a few minutes after she had left, and then a text asking for her name.
It was Evangeline—Eva for short.
A little before the second segment, only 45 minutes later, Eva had texted him again saying that she had ‘absolutely loved’ the story. She had also let him know that she had drafted a quick introductory blog post and would post a more in-depth review once she had the chance to get into close-reading the text a little more.
After the interchange, Soren had gone on to record the afternoon show. He had been tired from the morning’s filming, but he managed to retell the story without it falling too flat. And he got a studio t-shirt out of the deal.
Now, finally at ease after a long day in front of strangers, Soren looks out his window, watching the late afternoon foot traffic like a silent movie. Seeing all the different people walking and working reminds him of the film crew from the studio, only these people aren’t filming life: they’re just living it.
His peace sours slightly—loneliness replacing his wonder. Why does he run away from people only to turn back around and look out longingly through the door he’s closing?
He’s still surprised that he felt comfortable sharing the story with Eva, but for whatever reason, it felt natural with her.
He looks out the window again, pushing out the proverbial fog. One person read his story today and liked it. That may not be much, but it’s a lot more than nothing. Soren looks out the window again, a little of the luster returning.
As the Town Car turns a corner, Soren’s eyes pick out something far more colorful than the surrounding cityscape. It’s a young man in a vibrant, stained glass-inspired leotard sitting next to another, more conservatively dressed young man on a park bench, talking and laughing.
How strange—Soren begins to think, but his reverie is interrupted by another young man in a similar leotard walking leisurely beside a young mother pushing her babies in a stroller.
What is happening!? What can only be the very same individual is all over the place, spending time with people.
Could it be..? Soren takes a look at one of these men that’s waiting at the stoplight with a teenage girl who’s taking a selfie with him. Sure enough, it is the young man from Soren’s story!
If it weren’t for the driver doing double, triple, and quadruple takes at the appearance of each subsequent apparition, Soren might have thought he was imagining the whole thing.
Soren’s heart begins to race and a warm excitement ripples out from his chest. They’re reading my story!
Soren places his hands on the glass scanning around rapidly to see all the people interacting with his story. He pushes the window button but nothing happens.
“Hey, sir! Could you open my window? I want to hear what’s going on!” The driver shakes his head in disbelief but lowers the window.
“I really hope those bathing suit guys don’t turn out to be zombies or aliens or something.” Soren laughs aloud.
“No worries, they’re not, I promise… they will turn into lawyers someday, though.” The driver mumbles something about that ‘not being much better,’ but turns his attention back on the road.
Soren breathes the wind, catching the briefest of snippets of the conversations his character is having with these dozens of people. He hears the people sharing their hopes and dreams, and how things are going for them in their lives. He sees people smiling and laughing together and with his character.
They’re loving it.
Soren pulls out his phone and quickly texts Eva:
“Hey Eva,… how many people follow your blog, exactly?”
“A few…😉”
“So you’re seeing it too then, huh?”
Soren looks out the window again to see groups of people gathering together around the closest acrobat.
“Yeah, I’m seeing them alright…”
“😁 ”
“Sooooo… I really did enjoy talking to your character…
but it mostly just makes me want to talk to you more…”
“I know you’re leaving… but are you going to be in town again any time soon?”
Soren smiles.
“Well, I probably owe you something for all of this…”
He thinks about it for a second, then continues:
“Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“Don’t you have a plane to catch!?!?!?!”
“Meh. There will be other planes 😉.”
“LOL… okay… um sure. I can be ready by 7.”
“But are you sure though?”
“Yep. I really am. I’ll see you there 😁.”
He thinks for a moment.
“ And you’ll probably need to send me your address.”
“Right, lol. Okay sending…”
Soren smiles again. “Excuse me sir, could you drop me off at the Starbucks on Main, instead?” The driver who’s still shaking his head in disbelief simply turns off in the new direction without saying anything.
Soren watches as the people seem to truly enjoy his story: a piece of his soul that he has shared with them—his imagination conversing with theirs.
He sits back in the leather seat and puts his arms behind his head.
It turns out that his gift of bringing characters to life through his writing… was really about bringing himself a little more to life in the process.
“Time to write.” Soren smiles to himself and for the first time in a long time, looks forward towards what’s coming instead of what’s passing him by.
The End.