Creating Yourself

I was asked by another creative person to create myself as a character. I've never thought about doing this in a literary way. There are always reasons why people write, I write because I enjoy telling other people's stories. So when this proposal was brought to my attention i found it quite intriguing.

The first question asked, "if you were an inanimate object what would you be?"

I would be a piano, classic, stoic, and beautiful in any situation. Through a soundboard taught strings run; like thoughts connecting in the mind - hammers of inspiration tapping in rhythmic, melodic succession until finally gushing forth with an abundance of thoughts, joy, or sadness. Strings that are played, tickled, or caressed, yes I would be a piano.

The next question involved how we described ourselves.

26 the age that makes me think that I am no longer in my early twenties, and sliding ever closer to thirty. I am well adjusted enough, last year I had to come to grips with filing my taxes under a new age box – 25-35. However, I did go to a bar afterwords, not to drown my sorrows but to prove I was still young. Single, but not really worried I have more things I need to do than I have hands to do them with. And just like Peter Parker's uncle said, "With great power comes great responsibility." Do I really want the power of a couple in an economic downturn, the power of two incomes? What if the other loses his job, would I be able to step up my responsibility? No I think its best that for now, single will be the way I describe myself.

At this time of year, summer, I realize how awkward I look in Southern California. While most women walk around semi nude, tan, blond hair blowing in the wind; I sit -- under an umbrella -- worrying whether or not my SPF-70 will be enough to keep my Scottish skin from blistering. My auburn, shoulder length hair blowing in my face, I understand that this attempt at the beach would better be served from the comfort of café. Packing up I head to Urth.

Tan capri pants, that are surprisingly tanner than my legs fit smoothly over my red and white modern halter top bathing suit. A delicate silver necklace with chunks of brown, polished stones interjected in elegantly jingles as I walk through the door. I order my drink, Moroccan Mint – and find my spot on the patio. This is more my atmosphere, nestled in with the ivy sipping my tea and reading through my oversized prescription sunglasses, my blue eyes easily hidden from onlookers. If only they knew that between page turns I would think up stories about how their day had gone so far.

I could spend hours sitting and watching. Making up stories about people and the imaginary lives I can see them in. It’s only in these moments, the uncanny free time when people allow themselves to relax; these are the moments that I can script their lives. Traits that come out only when you are relaxed I see, expand, and abound to my whim - ensuring in my mind whether their day will end up satisfied or glib. As I sit and observe, pretending to read my book I realize that if I ever really grew up, I would want to be a writer.

So there you have it. A brief look into how I would be if I were a character in one of my novels.