Fiction Writing for Dummies

“That’s way too dark!” Prismo complained, hands still on the laptop’s keys but, much to Scarab’s annoyance, still unmoving.  “It certainly is not,” Scarab said, trying his hardest not to sound petulant as he did his best to cross his two-dimensional arms across his chest. Scarab was right and he knew it, but he also knew that Prismo, for whatever reason, was doing him a favor here. When Prismo had first offered to show Scarab his character creator, Scarab had assumed it was some kind of a carrot before the stick situation, where Prismo thought he could reward time with or withhold use of the laptop to get Scarab to do his job.  But as time went on and it became ever increasingly clear that Scarab was too incompetent to even do said job in the first place, Prismo only let Scarab work on his story more and more. When Scarab spent a full two days trying to move a beer can from beside the wall- one that, of course, he’d seen Prismo so easily interact with and toss aside- he’d only stopped when Prismo offered to let him work on world-building. When Scarab got stuck halfway between the wall and floor while trying to reach for the mop in the pickle room and, in what they both know was his one successful interaction with the third-dimension to date, managed to break a full vat of pickles in his panic, Prismo had only wanted to work on beginning the outline of the story after wrenching Scarab back onto the wall and cleaning up the mess.  Even after Scarab had given up completely and refused to even try to do anything but just sit and stare away from Prismo or his screen, Prismo had all but begged Scarab to come finish the outline with him. A couple weeks ago, Scarab would have loved to have said no, to have thrown whatever pity or performative kindness or whatever other ulterior motive Prismo had back in his face, but now Scarab just wanted the distraction. “It’s just realistic.”  “No- Okay, yeah, I’m sure it possibly is more realistic to some place in some universe at some point in time, but I don’t think it’s any more realistic than a happy ending in the big picture,” Prismo countered.  Scarab sighed. Of course perfect Prismo, who had had everything handed to him and time and time again had everything work out, would believe in happy endings.  Prismo frowned. “Besides, I thought you wanted a mystery? If your main character dies before figuring everything out, doesn’t that kind of ruin the fun?”  “It’s not supposed to be fun!” Scarab snapped.  Prismo was still frowning, but he finally started typing again. “Well, I guess as long as you’re having fun making it… Okay, so I got to where the priestess found the evidence that the corrupt Bishop had planned the murder. What did you say was next?”  Scarab nodded, happy to be continuing. He explains how the priestess, valiantly but ultimately foolishly, tried to go to the Cardinal to report the Bishop’s crime. The Cardinal, despite the priestess’ years and years of dedicated but unappreciated service- Scarab chose to ignore Prismo’s eyeroll here so as not to interrupt the flow of the story- didn’t believe her. Instead she’d been bewitched- Scarab managed to ignore another eyeroll here- by the cunning yet simple-minded Bishop. The innocent priestess was then arrested and put through a farce trial before being burnt at the stake, while the Bishop and her lackeys not only got away with the murder but continued to be adored by the people and the rest of the clergy.  Prismo, for his part, finished typing out what Scarab wanted before voicing his unwanted criticism. “You’re sure that’s what you want to happen?” “Yes,” Scarab said, resolutely. Prismo nodded a couple times, but Scarab wasn’t foolish enough to believe that that was the end of it. “I was just thinking,” Prismo began. “I wish you wouldn’t,” Scarab said. “What if the story didn’t end with the priestess being executed?” Prismo asked. Scarab shook his head. “Even if this were the kind of simple children’s story you like, I don’t think it would be very believable for one person to overcome an entire church.” “No, I know, you don’t want a fully happy ending where she completely wins, but what if it’s just a bit nicer? Maybe she doesn’t need to die?”  “Don’t-” Scarab tried to interrupt, but Prismo kept going. “ Maybe ,” Prismo said, “The Bishop could put in a good word for her! Then she wouldn't need to die. Maybe they could even become friends!”        Scarab clenched his fists. “No. That’s stupid and doesn’t make sense.”        Prismo snorted. “It’s not stupid! It’s nice.”       “Besides, that’s hardly a happy ending for the priestess,” Scarab said.       “It’s a lot happier than her dying,” Prismo said with a strained laugh.        “You would say that, wouldn’t you,” Scarab muttered.        Prismo paused, before gingerly closing the laptop. “I think maybe we should-”       “No, I mean, really, Prismo. Just think about it. You’re suggesting that the priestess being spared only because of the same blatant favoritism that allowed the Bishop to commit her crimes in the first place is anything approaching a fair, happy ending?”        Prismo sighed. “Dude, your, uh, metaphor is becoming a bit-”        “Besides, what possible intentions could the Bishop have for doing something like that?” Scarab continued.        Prismo stared at Scarab. “I think it’s pretty obvious, bro, that- that she would just want to help!”        “Help herself, maybe,” Scarab said. He was standing at his full height now, but that only served to make him feel even smaller as he glared up at Prismo. “The priestess would just be another tool to make the Bishop look good, so she can get away with even more misconduct in the future!”        “You know, I didn’t hear any of these concerns from you when I was asking Orbo to go easy on you,” Prismo said. He was trying to keep his tone light and joking, but Scarab could easily tell he was beginning to get under the Wishmaster’s skin. It wasn’t much, but after weeks of being able to do absolutely nothing, it was at least something.              “Then, even worse, the great, kind, perfect Pris- Priest- Bishop wouldn’t even need to keep the priestess around for long!” Scarab spit out, trying his hardest to keep the projection of his mask in place to keep from reverting to his more primal screeching voice.       “What?” Prismo asks, sounding genuinely baffled in a way that only made Scarab all the angrier.       “You could- she could- Could just make a big show about what a great guy she is for putting up with the hated priestess- the one no one else can stand! Get even more admiration, then just send the priestess back to the Judgment Hall to face her original punishment!”        “What is wrong with you? I’m not doing any of that! You’re not being fair!” Prismo said, his voice rising satisfyingly close to a yell.       “I’m not being fair?” Scarab yelled. “I did everything right! And I still ended up here as punishment while you did everything wrong and you got everything you wanted!”       “You ignored your actual orders to hound me over a tiny infraction!” Prismo yelled. “Then you ignored the boss’ direct orders and tried to destroy a canonized universe over nothing! You deserved a lot worse than-”       “Then why am I here?” Scarab asked. He had wanted it to sound as angry and hateful as the rest of their argument, but his voice wavered. Scarab hadn’t thought it was possible to hate himself more than he had over the past couple weeks, but the suddenly sympathetic look that came over Prismo’s face sent a whole new level of self-loathing coursing through Scarab.       “I didn’t mean-” Prismo began, but Scarab shook his head.       “Honestly,” Scarab said.        Prismo looked away from him.        “Okay, look, you got me, alright?” Prismo said, all traces of the pretend good mood from before gone. Scarab’s grim satisfaction quickly disappeared, though, as he listened to what Prismo had to say. “It wasn’t- Just to be clear though, I do really want to help you. Your motives were petty, childish, and power-hungry, sure, but you weren’t completely wrong. I had broken the rules. But you’re right, it was more selfish than just that. I wanted-”       “Revenge?” Scarab sourly finished for him.       “No! It’s stupid, okay? But when you were trying to find Fionna and Cake, I know you just kept me around to gloat or whatever, but, you know,” Prismo trailed off with a shrug.        But Scarab didn’t know at all what the Wishmaster meant.        “It was kind of fun. I mean, not watching you hurt people and mostly not watching you get your ass kicked. Just, I don’t know, having someone around to talk to and listen to. I guess it was kind of nice. To have someone around for a change.” Prismo had been looking pointedly away from Scarab as he spoke, but his eyes snapped back to Scarab when he heard the former god-auditor begin to laugh.       “Really, Prismo? You expect me to believe that? That Prismo- everyone’s favorite cool dude, the guy famous for his parties- is lonely?” Scarab asked in a mock incredulous tone.        Prismo couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice when he snapped, “I know you wouldn’t understand, but it’s not as simple as that! The one person I wanted to talk to- who would have known what to say or how I felt- was gone! And, yeah, I might be popular, but I can’t think of anything less cool than this,” Prismo said, waving his hand toward himself before sweeping it out toward the rest of the mess of a Time Room. “So yeah, excuse me if I wasn’t exactly going out of my way to have people see me like this. And it’s not like anyone was all that interested in me when it wasn’t time for a party or a game.”        Scarab felt the urge to bite back at Prismo, to think of something barbed and painful to say, but as the other’s words sank in, Scarab found himself unable to do so. It was like a switch had been flipped, and he was seeing the Wishmaster for the first time again. He noticed the stubble on the projection’s face, and the bags under his eyes that were only accentuated as Prismo frowned back at him. Scarab would have thought that the realization that Prismo, the undeserving Wishmaster whose very existence had spited Scarab for literal ages, had been suffering would have made Scarab feel ecstatic. Or at the very least, a little better. Instead, Scarab only felt the same suffocating defeat he had since he had gotten here.        “If you really think that I could possibly make you feel better, Prismo, then you’re even dumber than I thought,” Scarab said. He had wanted it to sound mean, but it came out in a matter of fact way that made him wince.       To Scarab’s surprise, Prismo actually smiled at that. “Scrabby, I hate to break it to you, but you already have.”        Scarab let out an annoyed sigh. “You’ll realize your mistake soon enough.”        “Yeah, probably,” Prismo laughed, in that obnoxious kind of way that made it sound like he doubted that very much. “But if that’s what you’re worried about, you shouldn’t be. I’ve seen you at your worst, and, believe me, that’s nothing compared to my last roommate. You haven’t even killed me yet!”        Scarab sighed.        “No, I mean it,” Prismo said. “I don’t care how long it takes you to get used to this form or whatever you did before. I’m not going to just fire you or send you back to Orbo or whatever.”        Scarab thought of arguing more on the subject with Prismo, but Scarab doubted he could say anything to change Prismo’s mind, however strange of a fact that might be to him. An awkward silence hung over the two of them after that, giving the Scarab ample time to regret ever letting Prismo show him the stupid character creator to begin with. Or attempting to destroy the abominations’ world after it was canonized and ending up here in the first place. Or not just going after the Cosmic Owl when he was told to. Or-       “You know, Scrabby,” Prismo said, opening the laptop again. “I was actually really excited when you first said you wanted to work on a- what was it?- a dark fantasy-”       “A dark medieval mystery drama,” Scarab corrected, before he could think better of it.       Prismo nodded. “Yeah! I mean, I’m happy to talk to you about the heavy stuff. Me and my old friend used to do that all the time, but I really thought you actually had a story you wanted to create at the beginning there.”       “Didn’t Orbo warn you? I just love to disappoint,” Scarab said.        “I didn’t mean it like that,” Prismo complained. Scarab looked away when he saw that Prismo was opening up the character creator again. “But, come on, was this the story you really wanted to write?”       Scarab didn’t answer. After a second, he heard Prismo begin to type. Annoyed, Scarab looked over to see Prismo had typed ‘dark medieval mystery drama’ in the brainstorming section.        “What does it matter?” Scarab huffed. “The original idea probably would have- I mean, you have terrible taste. You’d have just mocked it.”       “Why start caring what I think now?” Prismo laughed. Scarab could see he had moved on to a new line, the cursor blinking eagerly in the empty space.       Scarab, despite knowing his physical body was in a deep sleep, felt too exhausted to argue anymore. “What if I don’t like it, though? Or it’s just terrible in general? I mean, I can’t do anything else here. Why would this be any different?”       “Who cares?” Prismo asks. “We’ve got nothing but time here! Write a bad story. Or a million bad stories. Just have fun with it.”       Scarab shrugged noncommittally. Prismo smiled eagerly at him, hands ready on the keyboard.       Scarab sighed dramatically, crossing his arms again. “Fine!” He said. “You were right. I didn’t really want it to be about a priestess. I was thinking more of a midwife?”       Prismo nodded as he typed. “Does she have any friends?”       Scarab looked at him suspiciously.       Prismo only shrugged. “Everyone’s got to have a best friend, right?”       Scarab paused, before grumbling, “She’s professional acquaintances with the gravedigger. The two of them are kind of outcasts, but one day they discover a body….”       Scarab kept talking, and this time, Prismo kept writing, grinning the whole time. After a while, Scarab couldn’t help but notice he had begun to smile, too.