A Writer Gone Crazy

As writers, we think a lot and basically function only in our imagination. You may wonder if there are any risks in that, and if anything has ever come of it. I'm sure you already know the answer. Writers go crazy sometimes; it's a proven fact. It may be from the overexertion of trying to think of a non-cliched plot that no one in the world has ever done before, or it could even be the pain of trying to manipulate our characters even though when they won't listen. What would happen if our characters could manipulate us? Check out the tragedy that happened to our poor fellow writer, Dr. Sullivan Nash.
Dr. Sullivan Nash squinted at the blurry screen and choked on his cough, his wrinkled fingers typing like flying earthworms. He was trying to finish his final story before he died: the last in the series of the Madagascar expedition.  The secret safari agent, Borack Tethersnick, was about to blow up the Argon Mountain with dynamite to collect the red ruby treasure for which he so longed. Sullivan had been working on this series for many years and he was almost done with it. His final goal was to publish this. This is what he lived for. This is why he was still alive.

Knowing he didn’t have much time, he lurched forward and squeezed out several chapters before he had to stop for a hacking break. It was midnight now. He pressed on anyway and worked for a couple more hours.

It was 2 am. He was halfway dozing in his chair, bored with the story and confused on which direction to turn. Dazed, he closed his eyes to make sense of it all. What to do? His characters weren’t cooperating. Suddenly furious with himself for his imminent failure, he pounded on the keys; on a spur of the moment move he made his main character die in a fateful lightning storm with his neck twisted beyond belief.
Sullivan sighed and sat back for a moment, running his hands through his wisps of hair. Wait. He blinked and focused his eyes at the screen again in shock. Some new words had suddenly appeared.

“Why did you kill me? I'm not ready to die!” the blank screen etched out by itself.

Sullivan Nash knew he had to be dreaming. He would never have written that! Such poor dialogue. And he would never make someone come back to life.

He would not have written that...but was no one else in the room to do so.

Borack Tethersnick had come alive.

Pinching himself, his eyes wavered as he tried to keep his head from bobbing about. How could he control his characters if he couldn't even control himself?! He slid closer to the computer, clutching himself to the keyboard as he decided what to write next.

With a rush of determination, Sullivan wrote the next paragraph. He demanded Borack Tethersnick be crushed up with a mill grinder, then burned at the stake. Aha. He was killed at last.

Some more words appeared on the screen just then. “I will get revenge! I vow your family will be next!” Borack Tethersnick appeared to be saying.

Sullivan was getting tired of this. He was an old experienced writer but seemed to be unable to do this anymore. His face scrunched up in amazement as he wondered, have I lost my ability to write? No. It's not possible. He tried to wake himself up again by pinching himself but the bruise on his arm only got worse.

All of a sudden Borack Tethersnick seemed to take over the whole novel. Words and worlds swirled and changed; the colors and shapes flashed brightly giving him an attack of anxiety.

“Please, save me!” the old man cried. “I could take it when I was younger… it's too much now. Please! Leave me alone!”

The weakly Sullivan couldn’t speak anymore. He was too choked up with his hacking congestion. His heart beat faster than he could count. With trembling hands, he tried to power off the computer and return to real life. But he was sucked into the story. He felt a jolt of lightning blaze through him as Borack Tethersnick took control. Sullivan Nash’s life was seeping out of him, being sucked out by the very character he had tried to kill. Oh why, oh why had he made him with venomous and cannibalistic tendencies? He wished he could have taken back all of those outlines and character development about him. He wished Borack Tethersnick could have had a nice childhood.

“I am so sorry I took away your family!” Sullivan cried.

Borack chuckled in evil intent, “It is too late. You have taken away mine; now I will take away yours.”

“I don’t have one!”

“Oh. Right.” Borack continued on with his cruel suction, an evil smile creeping over his imaginary lips. “It is your own fault. You have created me, oh father.”

“Yes I have…. Please I will give you another chance. I will bring you back to life. I will give you a home, please!”

Borack ignored this and gave the poor author the final push into death.

“Goodbye my friend.” He disappeared into the darkness of Sullivan’s brain and was gone forever.

Sullivan Nash was found dead the next morning, slumped over his computer as if trying to turn it off. His characters had truly driven him crazy.

The legacy on his tombstone read, “Killed by the character he tried to kill,” and it may have been accurate. Who knows. All we know is, writing can drive you crazy. As it did to him.


  1. Uh, wow...that's deep and dark! Very cool story Karissa! I hope all the writers on this blog keep their focus on the Lord first, and their writing second, so they will never end up consumed by their creation.
    - C.g.K.

    1. I hope so too! :) Was having a little too much fun writing this. Haha.