When we last left off, Lesley and Bart heard a
grinding noise from the storage space. What they heard
was Stu’s typewriter as he angrily ripped
a page out of it when he heard Bart say his
mother is a porn star. She is. I wrote him
that way and he hates it. See, Stu’s self-aware.
He’s a writer – a good one – at least in the
world he exists in, and he’s figured out that
he too is just a character in someone
else’s story. When he rants and raves about
The Author, he’s talking about me. Hello.
My name is Isaiah Montana. No, I’m
not related to Joe Cool, the quarterback
from the golden domes of Notre Dame and San
Francisco. I’m just a man from Kansas. I’ve
lived here all my life and never taken a
wife. Writing has always been more important
to me than anything. I even worked for
the newspaper in Winfield for a while.
That paid the bills while the manuscripts piled
up, cluttering my home with stacks of paper.
I’ve written 38 books and screenplays in
my 69 years on this planet and not
one of them got past the sniffing butts phase with
an agent or publishing company. So
it goes, I suppose. I’ve been writing my new
novel for the past three years. To tell the truth,
the isolation is getting to me. Stu
started off as a minor character and
morphed into this larger than life person who
talks back to me. I don’t know where we’re headed,
but I do know that once Stu realizes he’s
the star of the show, he’ll be able to move
things with his mind like a Jedi and move like
Neo. It’s just a matter of him getting
off his ass and doing something instead of
pining for a life that could never exist.
Stu’s a whiner. He’s based on Yossarian
from Catch 22, because Yossarian
is dead the entire time and so is our
main protagonist, Lesley Jones. This book is
the story of one man’s afterlife and how
it can be Heaven or Hell, depending on
our actions and the way we perceive the world.
It’s Stu’s job to convince Lesley he matters.
It’s Bart’s job to want the sword. It’s Lesley’s job
to believe he’s the right man to carry it.
It’s my job to bring that all together in
book form and sell the son of a bitch to a
publisher so it can get published and I
can finish building my cabin in the woods.
Oh … to dream. Shakespeare said that … sort of. To all
the people who would complain about Stu’s use
of marijuana to communicate with
me, I point you to Sir William’s garden and
the recently unearthed pipes containing trace
amounts of cannabis. It’s not a drug in
Stu’s world, it’s a way to talk to The Author.