Late :: Liam Hogan

Well really! Anyone can see that I should have been the hero. An elegantly dressed white rabbit, making haste along the river bank, fearing he’s late… Ah, but late for what? And hurrying where? Dear Reader, doesn’t that just grab your attention?

Instead, that chit of a girl follows me. As if that’s an inciting incident! And what a frightfully weak character: a tearful child with terrible vocabulary, barely able to think for herself. Have you read her inner monologues? Uncommon nonsense. Wrong headed, self obsessed, always going on about her wretched cat.

How under earth did she become the focal point of the story? I know, a minor character can sometimes steal the show, but that’s when the character is interesting!

Having thrust herself rudely into the spotlight, she runs around at the whim of a scatterbrained author. “Drink me,” the bottle says, so of course, she does. “Eat me,” the cake says and does she even stop to think about the calories?

She drinks and eats, eats and drinks, shrinking and growing like a pair of badly maintained bellows, getting herself in a right muddle, always forgetting to pick up that damned key.

How hard can it be? It’s a key.

How hard can it be? It’s a key. Pick up the key, drink the potion, go through the door and out into the garden.

How can anyone stretch that out until the end of Chapter Seven?

You can tell the author hasn’t a clue what to do with her either; lurching from one scene to another, padding it out with mixed up nursery rhymes and mangled poems, demanding answers to the same questions the baffled Reader might ask, such as “Where shall I begin?” and “Which way I ought to go from here?”

Whereas I had a beautiful story arc. Full of drama and excitement, an epic love story at its beating heart. And one that didn’t need a waking-from-a-dream ending.

Instead, I end up as a mere recurring theme, my appearances reduced to prodding Alice down the narrative path. Drop my fan here, send her over there, heroically try to impose a little order in the courtroom. All of which adds up to a big fat nothing, as far as the telling of my story goes.

And the love interest? Mrs. Rabbit gets elbowed aside for thinly disguised caricatures of Alice’s barely more tolerable siblings and incomprehensible riddles without answers.

Oh, it’s my own fault, in the end. That’s the worst of it! It was all down to the chaotic way the author works, conjuring up oddball characters and throwing them into the mix like shuffling a deck of cards. Little wonder he’s not brave enough to use his real name.

Plenty of rhyme but no reason.

Early on in the proceedings there was a kickoff meeting where the strongest voices could emerge, the major and minor characters could be refined, and some semblance of plot cobbled together.

Only, I wasn’t there. Not until long after the best roles had gone.

Damned Hatter, damned March Hare, telling me that butter was good for my pocket watch. Butter! I should have realized they were trying to delay me, to wrangle their parts into something bigger. Page hogs. They’re about the only thing Alice gets right: It is quite the stupidest tea party.

So now you know.

When I run around saying I’m late, that’s what I’m late for.

But perhaps all is not lost. There’s going to be a sequel, a second chance to tell my tale. Not underground this time, alas; but I’m sure there’s still a significant role for a rabbit of my undoubted talents. The planning meeting is today. About now, actually.

Heavens! Oh my! Is that the time?

Meet the Author

Liam1_cropLiam is a London based writer and host of the award winning monthly literary event, Liars’ League. Winner of Quantum Shorts 2015 and twice finalist in Sci-Fest LA’s Roswell Award, you can find out more at: http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk/.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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