When does a character stop being just a compilation of letters and words, held together only by grammar?
A tale we (Writers of Protagonize) can relate to a little too easily. Young, wanna-be writer, Marcy, takes on the adventure of writing her first full book. Joining her on this adventure are her sassy fictional characters.

Jillian was having a terrible day.  And really, that was putting it kindly.  In addition to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, and a remarkably bad hair day which resulted in her normally pretty light-brown hair being twisted and knotted into a messy bun (and not the cute, effortless kind that people say "just happened," but really they spent twenty minutes in front of a mirror perfecting), Jillian had been late to school, earning her a detention; she barely passed her calculus exam, and to top it off, her biology teacher assigned new seats.  

Now, normally new seats aren't anything to break down over.  But these new seats were beyond worst-case scenario. These seats were straight out of hell, and she got stuck with the throne. She had been sat between the exact two people she wanted to avoid most-- her personal bully, and the crush she'd been obsessing over since Day One, freshman year.  


Marcy's pencil had been scribbling furiously, trying to get the words down before they escaped her.  Her biology teacher clearly assumed she was taking notes for the exam in a few days, or he would have publicly humiliated her by reading her notebook to the class.

 Such a scene always brought joy to her classmates. Sometimes, when class was a little too dull, they would intentionally and very obviously pass notes to one another just to make him stop talking about "Mitochondria: The Power House of the Cell."

Those red-herring notes were most often just silly pictures, or ridiculous pick-up lines.  Most recently, the one that got passed around, courtesy of Anonymous, read: Will you end class early?  Circle one: Yes or Yes, mimicking those elementary notes one might pass to one's crush.  Everyone knew better than to disclose personal or intimate information in Mr. Churling's classroom.  

And so it was Marcy was beginning her brand-new story, scribbling away furiously and looking up every other sentence to make sure her dinosaur of a Biology teacher wouldn't suspect her lack of attention. 

The End

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