Pitch, Part 2

—Is that your story? Kind of depressing. And you can’t just end it like that.

—Settle down. That’s not my ending. It’s not even my story.

—Whatever.

—Right.

—So will you bring your readers to any conclusion?

—No. No one ever does, really.

—Now that’s arguable. Platitudinous even.

—Of course it is. Everything is.

          .....


—So that’s your story.

—I told you, call it what you will.

—But it is a story you know. Whether you pretend it’s something else or not.

—That’s your conclusion. But it sounds like you changed your position.

—Sure. You’ve got everything in it that you said you wouldn’t have.

—What are you saying?

—There’s theme, there’s conflict of characters, style, even a plot of sorts...

—All incidental, I tell you.

—...and you’ve got lots of thought.

—All incidental.

—What do you mean, incidental? It’s there, isn’t it? And you said it wouldn’t be.

—But there’s no one here.

—Sure there is. Me and you. And an audience, maybe.

—No, there’s no audience. Not now. The audience hasn’t come by yet. They will, later, but not now.

—And I suppose we’re two bum characters on the edge of the sidewalk.

—No. There are no characters.

—What are we?

—We’re the writer of course.

—But we’re fighting. There’s conflict, so we must be characters.

—No, we’re just the writer. We’re just words.