The Character Code

Prologue – Words from the Author

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Gary Gray was just another character amongst the hundreds I had dreamed up. I'm not going to lie.

Short, chubby, and barely out of childhood. These words describe Gary as a whole. There is nothing special about her, and as clichéd as the statement was just now, the truth it was.

While I was writing down the shaky outlines of "The Character Code" on left over intermediate paper from sophomore year, I also pilfered through old notebooks and sketch pads. I thought I had grown out the fantasy genre when I was thirteen, but with the "Lord of the Rings" dragging me back into a new world of elves, dwarves, war and very very vivid culture porn, I exasperatedly realized that this part of fiction wasn't quite done with me yet.

I leafed through my younger self's scrawny, twig-thin handwriting, a striking contrast to my now wide, fancy, and loopy penmanship, and found an out-of-place plot in the middle of the tales of swooning knights and murderous sirens.

Well, if you could call it a plot.

More like, notes that could have led to a story.

It was, unlike the rest of its brethren, the story of a fledgling school. I discovered—or rather, rediscovered—young, discontinued little Gary Gray there as a supporting character, that wallpaper kid who appeared ever two chapters or so, bringing common sense into the drama of first-time dating and horror-house haunting.

In truth, she fit in more in a modern, middle school setting, perhaps as that uncomfortable best friend who hated the P.E. teacher's gutsy guts, or the silent girl in the mean-girls group. But I looked at the rough sketches of her solemn face and her irritated scowl, and found that I was curious. Could she work in a medieval, fantastic setting?

I scanned samples of her painstakingly little dialogue, and they read:

"Stop crying." She grumbled, watching Adrian through the unruly tangles of her dark hair. Adrian wondered if she'd ever heard of a comb.

"I can't stand crying," she warned him moodily, glaring. And when he sniffled and wiped the tears from his cheeks, Gary—wasn't that a funny name to call a girl?—impatiently crossed her arms and sighed. "Good. But seriously, if you don't even like her, why did you date her in the first place?"

"Because I was popular, and she was popular." Was Adrian's baffled response, quiet and miserable.

She gave him the driest look anyone could muster in that corner of the United States and closed her eyes, praying for patience. She took a deep breath and sighed again. "Well, we both have lips, but you don't see me trying to kiss you." She pointed out irritably.

"You don't mince words, do you?" Adrian growled, stung by her insensitivity.

She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Look, if I offend you," he rolled his eyes at this, and the corners of her lips quirked up, "Which I clearly do, I'm sorry." She shrugged. "But personally? I think you're so upset not because she broke up with you, but because she broke up with you in front of everyone."

With that said, she shouldered her way past him, pursing her lips. "And stop running to me when you want a shoulder to cry on. I'm not your damn therapist." She grumbled.

There should have been no connection to "The Character Code". Dating was a foreign concept in a Middle Earth setting. That attitude was simply out of place, either. But while doodling little elves on the draft, I couldn't help but wonder, "What if?"

Could she work in a medieval, fantastic setting?

I could have forsaken her and instead sent for another. And there were certainly many choices.

Aistacariel, the world-weary warrior who once conquered dragons and armies of dark spawn. She could have easily assimilated into the dark, gritty atmosphere of the Lord of the Rings. Many ideas came to fruit with her as my Muse, the protagonist. A battle worthy of the epics, a love story discreet but tragic, an exploration of the different races!

There was also Jet, the intelligent, emotionally-stunted young scientist who was too efficient for his own good. He would have found the secret to the elvish immortality, hobbit luck, and dwarven greed. He reeked of angst and emotional constipation.

And, I could even have chosen that old maid Elarinya, the beautiful, too perfect orphan my 11-year-old imagination had aggressively wished to life so many years ago.

But for some unknown reason, I bypassed the fierce, tired Aistacariel, the cold, calculating Jet, the mysterious, warm Elarinya, and looked at little Gary Gray. I like to think that I met her accusing gray eyes and offered my hand.

I could almost hear her disgruntled voice. "I don't have a choice, do I?" She'd ask.

I blinked, startled by the sudden excitement that gripped me. I was smiling like mad, and my parents—who were watching the news and arguing about what to have for dinner—asked me what I was thinking about. I answered with a vague shrug and picked up my pen to write.

No, no, the story simply wouldn't make any sense if I forcibly shoved her into the workings of a Middle Earthean society. There would be no possible explanation to how she ended up an independent, strongly-willed young girl. So what if...?

I recalled the thousands of girl-falls-into-Middle-Earth stories and grimaced. Should I...?

I didn't want to explain a science phenomenon for her arrival, or a prophecy. I hated prophecies. Grumbling, I stewed on the HOW and flipped through a few more drafts of her previous story. They read:

Adrian gazed out of the window, and his eyes sought the cheerleaders practicing on the field. His chest hurt when he saw Katie, his girlfriend.

Well, his ex-girlfriend now.

He stopped and paused, just forlornly watching her amidst the sea of walking students, and only looked away when he heard a voice groan. He turned to see his, well, his schoolmate (since they obviously weren't friends) Gary stomping away, clutching her books.

"Author, make him stop!" She was hissing.

I couldn't help but giggle at that; she had a penchant for breaking fourth walls, and-

Wait. WAIT.

"I got it!" I squealed, and my parents gave me their odd, long-suffering looks again. Not paying any mind to them, I took a pencil, sharpened it, and began copying my old sketches of her. When I finished with a full-body image so that I could describe her well-enough, I pursed my lips and nodded, satisfied.

"Do you make it a habit to talk back to authors?" I muttered to myself curiously, giving her sketch a second once-over. I thought of that boy she had talked to in that first story—Adrian—and briefly searched something up on Google.

With my characters set, and a breaking-the-fourth-wall thing in mind, I finally picked up my phone and opened Notes.

So many plots to pluck up, so many tales to tell.

I prayed for inspiration, sneaked in a few words asking for world peace (because come on, someone has to do it), and began to type. How do I start Gary Gray's adventures in Middle Earth?

I hollered for that old rhyme book my sister and I enjoyed as children, and my younger sister grumpily tossed it to me, not caring that the hard cover dug into my stomach.

"There was a little girl who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead;

When she was good, she was very, very good,

And when she was bad she was horrid."

A verse from the Mother Goose.

"I hope that doesn't refer to me." Gary Gray sulked.

And a sassy quip to shatter the Fourth Wall.

Gary Gray was just another character amongst the hundreds I had dreamed up. I'm not going to lie.

Short, chubby, and barely out of childhood. These words describe Gary as a whole. There is nothing special about her, and as clichéd as the statement was just now, the truth it was.

But I think she'd do some good in this story, and the story would do her some good.

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