Summary

The author, KS Hernandez, reflects on their unfinished fiction writing, addressing an open letter to their characters, Ian, Jason, Linda, and Angel, who have been left in limbo for years, and contemplates the possibility of returning to the story.

Abstract

KS Hernandez expresses a deep connection to fiction writing, acknowledging the unfinished state of their stories and the characters within them. The author personifies their guilt and directly addresses their characters, Ian, Jason, Linda, and Angel, who have been stuck in time since 2014. Hernandez humorously apologizes for the neglect and the fictional hardships endured by the characters, while also revealing a sense of trepidation about revisiting the old drafts. The article concludes with the author's introspection about their writing process, a hope that the characters have found ways to occupy themselves, and an invitation for readers to support their work.

Opinions

The author views their unfinished drafts with a mix of guilt and affection, indicating a deep personal investment in their characters' lives.
Hernandez employs humor to address the prolonged absence from their writing, suggesting a coping mechanism for their writer's block.
There is a sense of regret and embarrassment about the characters' stagnation, reflecting the author's commitment to their story and the passage of time.
The author perceives their characters as potentially resentful or resigned to their unresolved situations, attributing to them a degree of autonomy and emotional depth.
Hernandez considers the possibility of their characters having developed independent lives and hobbies, demonstrating a creative and empathetic approach to character development.
The article ends with a self-reflective question about the nature of the author's writer's block, hinting at a desire for personal growth and a return to writing.

Writing + Fiction

An Open Letter to My Characters

Dear Ian, Jason, Linda and Angel

Fiction writing has always been my first love, even though I have yet to finish any of my stories. Uncompleted drafts lay dormant in a dated thumb drive labeled, “guilty.” Can anyone else relate? *enjoys the breeze from a myriad hands raised at once*

Instead of beating myself up about it, I decided to engage with my guilt, face to face. This is the result:

Dear Ian, Jason, Linda and Angel,

I know that I’ve left you in some precarious positions and you’ve probably checked your watches about a hundred times by now — waiting for me to help you continue your quest.

I’ll be with you shortly as I’m think up new and torturous F*ck My Life moments to subject you to in the morning.

I assume you’ve bathed without me. I hope so. If not, I’ll be sure to get that in the next time I’m with you; it’s been a few days and I’m sure it’s time. Have you eaten? Only one of you have, that I can account for. I’ll try to remember to sneak in a few more meals too, only if it doesn’t detract from the flow of the story. If it does you’ll just have to go hungry and for that I’m sorry.

I appreciate your patience with me as I plan to continue to screw your lives beyond hope and make things happen to you that would be socially unacceptable, and egregiously criminal, on my plane of existence. I have faith in you, you’re strong, and you’ll kind of pull through. Some of you anyway.

*Six years later*

I totally lied.

I never got back to Ian, Jason, Linda or Angel, and they are still in the places they were when I left them in 2014. Six years.

Six long years in the same clothes, the same socks and undies; that pot of coffee is stone cold, rancid! Any interest these poor people had in resolving their plight, back then, I’m sure has long faded. Unless… unless they’ve become like specters of the angry and forgotten dead where with each passing moment of unfulfilled desire and unmet need, their thirst grows.

At this point, I’m afraid to reopen the file. There’s probably a virus in it now. Born from all of that time and disappointment. Where do I go from here?

*Today*

I’m embarrassed to say that I never resumed my writing, for this story. Poor Ian, and Jason, Linda and Angel. What must they think of me? I wonder if they remember why they started? I wonder… Will they welcome me back, as their guide and oracle? Or will they reject me — more bitter, clothes unspeakably stale?

My hope is that my characters have gone on to take up hobbies like, knitting or crocheting, model plane building, hell maybe even baking or body building. I wish them well.

Why am I this way?

Thank you so much for reading. If you’d like to support me as a writer, please click here. ✍🏾☕