Interview with my fictional character...Or, How to tank an interview with your own imagination. Pt. 1

Interview 1: Marisa Mason(Revised Edition)

Author’s Note: This is presented in transcript format. Ideas and conceptions about the character are still being written. Incongruities may therefore be found in the final form. 

I sit in a 20x20 room that is lit only by a halogen light above the six foot long conference table. The walls are nothing special and made of gray concrete. The floor is an off white giving the rim a dim effect. The only items I have are a pen and paper. Marisa Mason enters from a door on the far side of the room. She is wearing a black cardigan and light gray t-shirt underneath. She has on a dark auburn skirt that hangs just past her knees with a slit up each side. Underneath her knee high combat boots are neoprene tights. It’s as if she is dressed to fight or flee at a moment’s notice.

Marisa sets her black fatigue deployment bag on the floor next to her chair as she sits. Her round face is hidden beneath a perfectly straight black mane of hair that rests over the shoulders and down the middle of her back. She has an eggshell white complexion and electric blue eyes that are complemented by black eye liner and a pair of thick black framed glasses. Without the glasses she would have a gaze that studied you, yet looked through you all at once. The appearance of her clothes would make you think she was concealing a pudgy build. The cardigan itself was two sizes too big. But in truth, she is athletic. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. The tips of her blue painted fingernails were chipped. Signs of ferocious typing. You would almost peg her for a Goth chick.  With her hands clasped and resting on her knees, the interview begins.

ME: Thank you for taking the time to do this. If you want, let’s skip the formalities and get right to it. Please state your name and date of birth.

MARISA: You know all of that.

ME: Yes, but just state it for the record.

MARISA: It’s not every day a creator asks the creation to tell them their name and D.O.B. It’s like meeting God.

ME: Oh, so you believe in God?

MARISA: I don't know, you haven't decided yet.

I pause at this. I’m caught off guard. The notion of arguing with a character who’s been inside my head for twelve years seems surreal. I question my sanity for a moment. My own creation has taken on a life of her own. I decide to keep cool and move forward.

ME: Ok, just pretend I don’t know anything about you. This is an interview process. I just want to be sure if YOU know who you are.

Her gaze is unwavering. It’s as if she is waiting for me to blink or like she is studying me. With reluctance she gives in.

MARISA: Fine. My name is Marisa Athena Mason. Based on your indecisiveness, I don't have a birth date yet. Fall perhaps? Early eighties? I’m twenty two years old, so that puts a damper on the time frame of the story. I’m assuming around 2001-2002 when things take place. Or have you decided yet?

ME: Still on the fence.

MARISA: So far this interview is as pointless  as masturbating with an oven mitt.

I resist the urge to laugh or even chuckle. Perhaps I’m being too formal. Or maybe she is just that bored. Who knows? Wait. I do know. She’s screwing with me? No. She’s exposing a weakness. She knows I don’t know everything. Better to move on to things I do know.

ME: Fair enough. We’ll move on. What’s your occupation?

She lets out a sigh and looks away. Like in that Geico commercial with the owls.

To Be Continued…