The Problem with Red Pills

also translated as "why live in the world when you can live in your head?" And words to that affect. Actually, I think this post is probably a cracked out cross between meta and introspective self-obsession. Intro-self-meta? Yes, well...*

So, I have a slight problem. Not a Big Problem, true, but nonetheless something that is Not Ideal for a girl determined to be a writer. An inconvenient occurrence, perhaps.
In other words, I have mistful's voice in my head.


I was walking along the road yesterday, happily thinking about stories, when I realised I had an internal narrative running. And mentally blogging. And this was before it started talking in scripts.

Now, see, the thing is that I love Sarah. I think she's amazing, and if I was given the opportunity I would totally, completely and utterly go and live in her attic and bake her cookies. And we all know that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Only, that doesn't give me the right to accidentally steal her voice, and its not a good idea for either of us. She is wonderful, brilliant, unique and so shiny, and I love it, but I need to be able to write as me. Because, if I cant, I'm screwed.

Well, that's one side of the issue, anyway. My other reaction (which was worryingly enough my first one) was to question the validity of my existence. A lot of the time, things happen in my life that seem to follow a story format. My eventual and blissful acquisition of a pony, stumbling towards the kilvites, my Cardiff life. In fact, a lot of it seems to follow a series format, with a season finale each summer. (The most recent, in case you wondered, was results day. Yum) So I realised I was hearing mistful's voice in my head, and my brain went wild. I quickly drew the conclusion that I was a fictional character and that, joy of joy, I was being scripted by one of my favourite writers. Unlike Sophie, I was oddly unworried by this. Then colucio came over, and we went on a mammoth quest towards Castell Coch (incidentally? Total quest format. Small mistake, bigger mistake, biggest mistake then success) during which I asked him about it.




Me: So, you know how you occasionally wonder if you're real?

colucio: Actually, I tend to speculate that I just made everyone else up, but... yes. Matrix style, right?

Me: mm... Well, I think I'm a fictional construct created by mistful.

C: wow! Thats just... cool!


We debated it for a while, flitting through the question of freewill towards the realisation that, probably, we had both just been over-exposed to Jostein Gaarder (if, of course, such a thing is possible) while we were Young and Impressionable. But I'm still not sure about it. I honestly seem to have such a charmed life sometimes that I worry. At some point the shit inevitably has to hit the fan. Its just when this will come. If I am living in a book (which I'd prefer by the way. Its the smell) then I'd assume it will leap atop me when I leave my university haven. If I am in a series, it can hit at any moment from September onwards. And if I am a bit player, which in some ways seems most likely, I'm almost certainly destined for some death or tragedy very soon. Unless
[info]mistfulis actually my narrator of course, in which case I might be lucky enough to get some girl/girl, girl/boy or girl/monster make-out scenes instead...




So what do you reckon, oh my lovelies? I very much doubt I'm existing in a matrix world, because I don't think a computer would be this involved in my day to day existence, but that doesn't mean I'm not being skilfully narrated. Which begs the question, really, of whether it is possible to contact the great creatornarrator through an internet blog. Ho hum...

xxxxxxxxxxx

*N.B. This post is probably not taken from the pen of Sarah Rees Brenan** and definitely not to be taken very seriously!
**actually, it came out sounding far more like me than expected. I think that qualifies for YAY status