"The Vagabond?"
At the corner of a humble coffee shop on Nowhere street, I sat face to face with Mr. Tusin. 4 more days had passed since my first day taking Dandelion with me on my food delivery trips. It took a while to teach her how to properly place food at the various doors. After a day or so however, she seemed to get the hang of it.
"Here's your order!"
She would say in a soft voice handing a pizza to a customer.
"My, what a cutie you are!" Some of the elderly customers would say giving her a cheek pinch. Strangely, it appeared my tip amounts increased during this time. During the nights and sometimes early in the mornings, I had begun working on my next story.
"That's right," I said as Mr. Tusin began reading through my outline. I sat there patiently drinking my coffee and munching on a muffin waiting for him to finish. I made sure to load up several long nature documentaries for Dandelion to watch on my laptop before coming here. Hopefully that would distract her long enough to not break anything.
"I have a few questions Kane," Mr. Tusin said lying down the outline and taking of sip of coffee himself.
"Yes of course, what do you think?"
"A Vagabond man and a magazine journalist woman, how did you come up with this idea?"
"Ah well…"
In truth I had been trying to think of a better term to refer to Dandelion. Homeless girl sounded too insulting. Hobo girl? Forest Girl? Not quite right since she did spend time in town as well. Finally, I settled on the term Vagabond, a word I thought contained a certain allure of mystery while still remaining accurate.
"I saw some vagabonds at town center the other day," I said. Not a total lie I suppose as I was in fact there with Dandelion.
"I'm pretty sure those are just hobos Kane," Mr. Tusin sighed, "And of all the things you could have written about, you chose a hobo? I don't know if that's the best idea. You know how audiences are. Most men prefer stories of strong heroes, or underdogs."
"I… wanted to change it up a bit."
"If your aim is to target a female audience, powerful men, CEOs, athletes, supernatural beings, musicians tend to sell. Vagabonds or hobos? Not really good for them either."
"Ahaha right…" I muttered as Mr. Tusin took another sip of his coffee.
"And Kate… you say her main traits are being a struggling magazine writer and being fascinated by the Vagabond's eyes? What sort of damsel is she? This is the 21st century Kane, strong female characters are in."
"Yes, yes understood," I replied feeling a stab at my pride.
"And even with that said, how come you don't even describe Kate's physical features? What does average body with ordinary facial features even mean?"
"It's just a placeholder for now."
"And these names too… Acorn's the name of your protagonist? I understand this is fiction but who would ever name themselves that?"
"Yeah that would be weird in real life, I guess it symbolizes how he's always moving around?"
We sat there in silence for a moment
"Crap… I messed up." I thought as a cold sweat flowed down my neck. Mr. Tusin had always been a harsh critic but even by his standards this was quite the verbal beat down of my characters. Maybe I should have stuck with the trending tropes.
"You… you think I should write something else or…"
"I didn't say that," Mr. Tusin interrupted. He looked at me with a stern expression.
"Can I ask you question Kane?"
"Yes… yes of course," I replied.
"This may be coming from left field, but I assure you it's relevant."
He paused again to take another sip of his coffee. The palpable tension in the room was killing me.
"Have you heard of the phrase The Death of the Author Kane?"
"The Death of the Author?"
It had been a while since I had heard that phrase but seeing that Mr. Tusin is a friend of my old college professor, I assumed he referred to the essay The Death of the Author made in the 1960s.
"Yeah, I've heard of it. That's the work of Roland Barthes isn't it? I read that in Mr. Lumen's 4th year curriculum."
"Yes yes, wonderful man and wonderful teacher Mr. Lumen is, do you remember what the essay was about?"
"It essentially proposed the statement that once a work is written, it is no longer your own work correct?" I answered attempting to recall the memories of the lectures. The only ones I didn't completely sleep through.
"That's correct," Mr. Tusin replied, "More specifically it states that the interpretation of a work is entirely dependent on the reader, and none at all on the author. Words after all, have ambiguous meaning. Uttering the phrase "scary as hell" for example can mean one thing to an upper-class noble's daughter, and a completely different thing to a seasoned war veteran."
"Yeah, that's right, I remember now," I said even further discouraged. While such a work made logical sense to me back in college, it always rubbed me the wrong way in what accepting the theory meant for art and individual self-expression… or lack thereof.
"Are… are you saying that my work would not sell with the readers then?" I asked.
"Well yes…" Mr. Tusin said without hesitation. I sighed ready to face the reality that I had to come up with a completely different story. Before I could apologize and promise this however, Mr. Tusin spoke again.
"That is… if you believe the essay's philosophy at its core."
Mr. Tusin placed his coffee on the table and looked back at me.
"Tell me Kane, do you believe the statements that Barthes proposes?"
Our conversation grew silent for a moment as I tried to scramble for an answer. Ignoring my logic for a moment, in my heart of hearts I wanted to reject the essay. Still, I am just an ordinary man, who was I to reject the premises of Barthes who had a lifetime to cultivate his scholarly opinion.
"I think Roland Barthes was an educated man," I began, "certainly logical if we look at what he's sayi…"
"I think it's horseshit." Mr. Tusin interrupted slamming down his drink.
"Are… are you finished with that?"
We both turned to see our waitress had come back to check on us. Mr. Tusin's loud slam had startled her quite a bit along with some of the other customers in the shop.
"Ahem…" Mr. Tusin said clearing his throat, "Another expresso please."
"Right away sir," the waitress said grabbing his cup and scurrying away. Mr. Tusin then turned back to face me.
"My apologies Kane, didn't mean to cause a scene. It's just a topic I feel very passionate about."
I nodded slowly in response."
"Is there a reason you don't agree?"
Well in all honesty, I have absolutely no logical basis for denying Mr. Barthes's essay. Not only was he an educated theorist, but countless fictional works in history seem to support his point. Take Shakespeare for example. An author whose plays you are no doubt familiar with?"
"The greatest," I nodded approvingly.
"Yes some do call him that. But you have also no doubt heard some of the conspiracies surrounding his life no?"
"I have certainly read some interesting ones. You're referring to the theories of how someone else wrote his works correct? Or that he may have never existed at all? Based on his background being a poor man from Stratford, it's not the weirdest assumption to make.
Mr. Tusin nodded.
"Yes, I too have read them. But I bring this up to pose to you a question Kane, and not to discuss conspiracy theories. Those are quite silly. Do you think it matters that Shakespeare is the one who wrote his works?"
"Do I think it matters? What do you mean?"
As in if it was not Shakespeare who wrote his works, but somebody else, a ghost writer posing as him, would his works carry the same significance as they do today?"
"Here's your expresso," the waitress said returning with Mr. Tusin's drink. I sat there pondering deeply for a moment as Mr. Tusin thanked her and immediately added a bit of sugar to his drink.
"I suppose they would hold the same weight would they not?" I finally replied, "The text would be the same so what would the difference be if someone else wrote the works?"
"I agree," Mr. Tusin said, "It would be the same if someone else was capable of producing the same works."
"Then Barthes's The Death of the Author premise is correct s it not?"
"That is 'if' someone else was capable," Mr. Tusin replied, "Therein lies the problem with The Death of The Author. It assumes all humans are capable of producing the same works. It's not that if someone else wrote Shakespeare's works they would feel any different to the reader, but that only Shakespeare living the life he lived and being born in the situation he was in, could be capable of writing such works. Do you understand?"
"I… I think so,"
"You can see it subtly in his works too. Only a man who lived during the instability of the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign similar to that of the Roman Empire can write a work like Julius Ceaser. And low and behold, only a few years later did an assassination attempt by Guy Fawkes on parliament occur. And that's also why the conspiracies about him not being the writer of his plays are also horse shit. It's funny how fiction tends to reflect reality."
"Haha right…" I said ignoring the fact that Julius Ceaser was also in fact an actual person in history.
"And besides…" Mr. Tusin said with a bit of a somber expression, "Wouldn't it be sad if The Death of the Author's premise were true? What does that say about self-expression and creative individualism?"
"Yes, I completely agree!" I said feeling a wave of joy at the affirmation. "That's exactly why I wrote this story premise… because…"
That said," Mr. Tusin interrupted once again, "creative self-expression and individualism do not guarantee quality. That alone is still decided by the market. I run a business after all."
He finished his second drink.
"Now I don't know why suddenly you wish to write a story about a hobo and a magazine publisher Kane, but I suspect it has something to do with your own life experiences. Am I wrong?"
"How… how did you know that?"
"Your expression this time when I met you entering the shop was different than usual Kane. You looked… how shall I say… happier? Like the first book you wrote. Not like your more recent works that catered more to the trending tropes."
"Ah, is that so?" I answered slightly embarrassed pondering whether to share Dandelion's presence with Mr. Tusin or not, "Well in truth…"
"Hold it…" Mr. Tusin said stopping me, "I don't want to know. Or rather it's better I don't know until your story is finished. That way the story is authentically yours Kane. A story only Kane could write."
I wanted to say more but upon further thought, I realized perhaps Mr. Tusin was right. So I simply nodded.
"Understood sir, my story's approved then?"
"It is," Mr. Tusin nodded. He then however looked at me again with a stern expression.
"To be clear, this is still a risk on my part. Your story premise certainly falls outside most of the bounds of trending fiction. But if this story is authentically yours Kane, then the rhetoric and characters will be so good they'll transcend that. Like how we can enjoy Shakespeare's work today despite not living through times of monarchs and witches. Can you finish the first 3 chapters by next week?"
"I can sir," I said as a smile appearing on my face. As I did, the waitress once again returned to our table.
"The check please," Mr. Tusin said to the waitress.
"I have to be leaving now Kane, I have a meeting with some of the investors of my company later. One more thing before I leave though."
"Yes?"
"I see here that there is a blank for the part of the story that is its conflict. Have you not thought of one?"
"Ah well… no, I haven't thought of one yet."
"Well, we can't have that can we? A story's not a story without conflict. It is simply the descriptor of some events, glorified world building really. Make sure you have a solidified conflict by next week, understood?"
"Understood," I said nodding.
"Good," Mr. Tusin said finally with a smile, "Find that story Kane."