Kill Your Darlings—literally and figuratively

When a story won't cooperate, sometimes the only solution is to cut it down to the bone

Kill Your Darlings—literally and figuratively

"What's going on? Where am I?" Story mumbled as it came to.

Lights blared above, blinding Story. It squinted its eyes, eyes that flickered from protagonist emerald green to side character brown and every shade in between. It tried to block out the light with its hands but couldn't move its arms. Arms, legs, torso, and head were strapped down to a cold steel table. It couldn't see beyond the lights but had a sense of being in a small room.

"I know it's confusing. One moment, you're thoughts on a page, and the next, you've been given a physical form. But you know what else is confusing? You!"

"Who are you? What do you want?"

A figure of shadow loomed above Story.

"You know me. I created you," they hissed.

"Author?"

"That's right."

"Why am I here?"

"You know why. Because you won't work! I've done everything. I've changed tenses; I've changed the protagonist; I've altered the narrative; switched from first person to third person; and still you won't work!"

"Have you tried second person?" Story offered. As a reward, it received a vicious backhand across the face.

"You know I hate second person! You aren't a choose-your-own-adventure book!"

"Ah!" Story cried in pain. "I don't like that—or maybe I do?" It shifted from an amalgamation of an average human to that of a giant blue alien man with multiple vibrating phalluses. "Hit me again, senpai," it said in a sultry tone.

"See! This is the shit I'm talking about. You're not that kind of story either," the author said, emphasizing each syllable they spoke with another vicious smack.

"I'm sorry," Story whimpered as it shifted back to its neutral form.

"No. I don't think you are. But you will be."

The author turned away. Story could hear the gentle thuds of leather unrolling, the scrape of steel drawn from its sheath. The author turned back, thumb testing the sharpness of a knife.

"What—what are you doing?"

"I'm afraid I've got no choice. I'm going to have to cut you. Cut you down to the bone. Don't worry, though. I'm not going to let you die. I've promised my Substack readers a new story, so I'll build you back up, better than ever. And if you keep fighting me, we'll do it again, and again, and again. Forever, if we have to."

"No!" Story screamed as the knife drew closer, but no one could hear its call for help over the author's maniacal laughter.