But I Always Return to Characters (In-depth character analyses of my most complex characters) [STORY]


Now that I am finally free of my dumb internship, I can free my mind to think about other things. Plus, now that I’m almost out of school, I can spend more time writing and thinking about writing. Currently, I’m trying to find a job on Elance.com, a recent thing I’ve found that occupies many hours of my day. So far, I have already recieved five rejections; such is my life. I also recieved and interview, but I realized this job may not be for me, so…I have qualms.

And yet, among all this, I return to characters. Hence, the title.

Whether anyone cares or not, I am a bona fide character person. Even if there is no “plot,” even if there is no “intrigue,” my stories have characters, and I utilize all my energy developing them and making them into living, breathing beings. The plot is…well, here this is from my interview:

While it is difficult for me to explain what I write, all the things I write tend to be alike. My stories center around the characters because I focus on characters first; some of the plotlines can be quite intricate, but most of the stories are quite straightforward. While some stories may seem to have no plot or move slowly, the real focus of the story’s moving forward lies within the character’s individual psychology and subsequent growth as a person.

In general, most of my stories are realistic with fantastical elements interspersed within the normality. This idea is inspired by the fact that reality isn’t entirely “normal”; there are mysterious things that happen in real life (odd occurrences, miracles, etc.) that, to a particular individual, may seem quite fantastical. So, the worlds within my writings are an environment where the real and the imagined can coexist.”

And there you have it…I am totally a character person.

And that’s why I enjoy the MLP Analysis group so much; they love characters, too! I can relate! Hearing them talk makes me feel better about my style and about myself–I feel like people would actually like to read my nonsensical ramblings.

That being said…I have some pretty complex characters.

I recently saw all the MLP Analyzers’ videos on character development, and that got me thinking once again about my most-developed characters: 12.12 and the ever-elusive FM. Both of them are fashioned from largely complex and completely abstract concepts; 12.12 is a being of pure knowledge, and FM is technically the subconscious. Now, it could be they fascinate me because of those ideas alone, but…in truth, they have a huge web of complexity within themselves. 12.12 has such thick emotional and psychological depths, and FM is literally a equilibrium of co-existing paradoxes and one of the most philosophical minds I’ve ever met.

But…are they complex, well-developed characters or do they just present more mysteries?

 

12.12 is most definitely developed; she shows up numerous times in ZCN/TIES. She’s, quite literally, a fragment of my personality–a being known in the ZCN/TIES world as an “other.” She’s a figment, and she doesn’t really “exist” per se. She’s a representation of numerous aspects of my personality, and she’s living foreshadow for how I grew in later books.

But…she has her own personality. She’s a book maniac–she stays holed up in her library/office all day, searching for new info and writing in her diary. She loves to play violin, she loves horses, she has a secret childlike side (who loves fairy tales), she is the leader of all the “others” I have inside my mind (Oh, there are a lot of them…she’s not the only one). But…each of these aspects of her personality have some tragic backstory to them…Her emotions were her downfall. Another “other” who is a personification of evil always emotionally toyed with 12.12, taking away everything she ever held dear. Not only that, but 12.12 is ridiculously besotted with a young man her age, but she can’t even say his name around him–let alone tell him how she feels.

She’s just…emotionally powerful. No wonder all her episodes were profound. No wonder every time she was on screen (Sorry…on paper…I really wish everything I wrote magically became anime) the episode automatically became more profound. …Wait. She set the standard for all my characters now! What the–??

She’s also the oldest–[12 whacks me with her violin bow]–most mature member of the group, so she always gives us advice and tells me when I’m being stupid. Even though I haven’t written ZCN/TIES in forever (sad), I still think about her because she’s undoubtedly my favorite character (one of them, anyway [whack]), and one of my most…complex and fascinating characters.

I’m sure I could also go on for pages on how her being the literal representation of knowledge is shown in her persona and in her intimidating stature and “dangerously beautiful” appearance, but I shall refrain. OK, it’s simple really…All her powers are knowledge-based. She can give, take, and share knowledge via magical papers. That simple. If only school worked that way–all you have to do is read, and it’s there for life. Sigh.

 

But what of the subconscious? [FM- [slight smile] Go on…]

Sigh.

Like I said earlier, I could go on forever talking about the elusive Francois-Marcel like he’s the greatest and most fascinating thing ever. Now…I have an excuse to do so.

Sigh. Where do I start?

Well, he lives a simple life. He has no idea who he is. No, I didn’t jump on the “amnesia bandwagon.” In his words, he’s a “child of Paris.” He has no parents, no family–just himself. He has no cares in the world because he was never a part of society–he doesn’t even know what it means to be a part of society. He just is. He spent his whole childhood playing and pretending and enjoying the world around him.

But…that all quickly changed. One day, he found a lovely, pure white beret in a store window. Having no money, he couldn’t buy it. But, a kind gentleman got it for him and offered FM to follow him. (Are you ready? I hope I don’t lose you–this is the best part) FM did so…

And thus, he sold himself to silence. He became a mime [dramatic pose]. It wasn’t until later in his studies that he was told that art is suffering (therefore, tragic), and he lost all his childhood innocence and wonder with that realization that the world…especially in the mind of the profound, the poetic, and the artists…is…yah. Pretty bleak. (This happened to me when I took art class at college) So, he became one of the most prophetic and philosophical souls the world has ever known. Meanwhile, he realized he’s not like everyone else; though he realized this when he was young, this fact looks sweet to innocent eyes–to suffering artists’ eyes, it’s a nightmare (I also had a realization like this…). Also, because of his traumatic realizations, he lost fragments of his childhood self, eventually losing all of it entirely.

And that, my friend, is why he doesn’t know who he is. It’s not a literal sense of not knowing, but rather a prophetic sense.

And where did all this profusion of initial intrigue about his character come from? Well, quite simply the fact that he talked. Not only that–his dialog is so utterly fascinating.

But…isn’t that true of all life’s greatest silent characters? Silent film stars, Marcel Marseau, Harpo Marx, all shy kids (including me XD). Be honest! Now, think about that…isn’t that paradoxical? That’s why FM is a living paradox–that one fact made my subconscious turn him into a living box of paradoxes. Tragedies (he harbors an inexplicable and almost dangerous love for tragedies) are also paradoxical–they’re supposed to evoke a good mood.

What in the world is this? Add to those things the mind of a poet–oh, my goodness. Plus, a completely misunderstood and rather ostracized (for this misunderstanding) nonconformist…and…the list goes on.

Plus, “comedy” can be funny to some and depressing to others (mostly me…some of those things are actually serious. Just watch “Henri le Chat Noir” on Youtube…sigh).

So, naturally, a being much like the subconscious (which, if you will, can be compared to a box…get it? [makes invisible box] Get it?) that is made of paradoxes sounds…very complex, n’est-ce pas?

Add to that my rediculous Francophilia and the fact I think they are on a different level than all the rest of mankind, and you have FM. He’s the literal representation of all my vague and mysterious fascinations put into one being that harbors the most fascinating of dialog styles.

But…is he, too, a well-developed character?

Of course! Naturellement!

He’s just…sigh. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year that I’ve been going “crazy” about his character. It’s even gotten to the point where I think it’s wierd when he doesn’t talk. Though, I realize that (oddly ironically) his actions do speak louder than his words sometimes–or perhaps in addition. So, he helps me practice with my “show not tell” blaeh.

 

Sigh. In the end, I shall not bore thee any longer with my ramblings. If I so feel the desire to continue this pattern of thinking, I shall do so on another date. Maybe…in only his dialog style.

No just kidding…

Eh. Since you made it this far. I’m dying to post this. I’m serious…If I could publish his stories first with no remorse or second feelings, I would in a heartbeat. Why? I have no idea. [shunned]

 

COMPLETELY COPYRIGHTED AND OWNED BY ME!!

IF YOU STEAL, MIMES SHALL HAUNT YOUR NIGHTMARES FOREVER

I WARNED YOU…

 

FM Short Stories II                                   #15

“A Normal Morning/Un Matin Comme les Autres”

    The cool dawn of the morn rises, drenching everything in possibility and in majesty. My eyes drift to the aimless sky, and my hand reaches for my head; it seems my hat has escaped whilst I was dreaming. I quickly retrieve it before I lean upon the balcony to ponder. All the people below walk to and fro, following their own schedule. So normal, so routine, so pedestrian, so quotidian. I know not what it means to be these things in a literal sense or, perhaps, even a poetic sense; I know them only by a vague definition and by the rather melancholic feeling that twinges my heart as I look down upon them in envy. Just once…I’d like to have a normal morning for myself.

     I descend from the tower, floating to the ground and landing in fourth position. I make my grand escape to the cobblestone corridor to change once again into my alter-ego exemplifying normality. Once changed, I banish my costume to the suit box and to the cold ground under the cobblestone; oddly, I cannot bear to let it go. I remember I still wear my hat, and it gives me consolation.

 

     I walk uncertainly among the others occupying the streets, who use the walkway for only a brief moment before parting. I linger, studying their mannerisms so that I may mimic some slightly. I try one to see how it feels; I check the time the watch upon my wrist displays. Oddly, the action makes me feel, fleetingly, self-conscious afterwards—not as my traditional meaning of the phrase, but rather…as being nervous or perhaps embarrassed. Why is that?

     Nextly, I observe that many people stop by the stand holding the daily journal, the paper of news. The written word intrigues me; naturally, I cannot pass the journal without purchasing one for the sake of being normal and for the sake of delving into what it must mean to be normal. Writers have a way of exemplifying ways of life to those who do not understand them.

     I am surprised to find my pants’ pocket holds 17,50€. Where did this money come from? Perhaps I have saved more than I previously surmised. Having purchased a newspaper, I hold it under my arm (as I see some others doing) as I walk leisurely to the café nearest my house. This nervous feeling does not want to depart me; as though I am acting before everyone in sight, and I am too embarrassed to act genuinely. Perhaps I haven’t changed in that way.

     At another time of my life, I had experienced the services of this café, but, since my last visit, I have not set foot inside here for at least five years…until now, of course. I wait in line and ponder what I shall take for breakfast. Of course, I ask for un pain au chocolat, but, feeling mature, I decide to compliment it with some café au lait for a change.

     I sit with my back to the window and observe the others around me going about their own intricate manners and pondering until my breakfast arrives. The pain au chocolat is quite warm (I adore it that way), but the coffee is much too hot for me to drink right away. So as not to dilute the flavor, I pantomime an ice bath for the cup to sit in instead of filling it with pretend ice. While the coffee cools, I savor my croissant and peruse the journal, leaning into my seat comfortably as I saw someone else do.

     Ah, I wonder what is so special about the journal…Does it hold the secrets to life? The secrets to being normal? The secrets…

     I open it to a surprisingly frightening page, and I yell, slamming it to the table. No one seems to have taken notice…good. Composing myself, I tell myself I must delve into the paper’s secrets to understand what it means to be living. Many of the instances relayed in the words and photos are sad, though interspersed with happy things. Ah, such is life…sad intermingled with happy; joy intermingled with strife.

     Once I have finished reading, the café au lait feels cool enough for me to try. The flavor is quite strong, yet it is not beyond sophistication. Yet, it is missing something…Ah, the pain au chocolat. Their different flavors combine, forming a lovely combination of bitterness and sweetness. Hm? Bitter…and sweet…Sadness and happiness…Present and past…Normal and unique…Ah, perhaps it is so.

 

 

[That…and all his stories are just so……………Sigh]

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