It’s all Geoffrey’s fault…

Occasionally I wonder how a fictional person of my own creation can be so clueless about something that would be glaringly obvious to me.

I put deliberate effort into making Geoffrey different from me, though. He’s a normal human, I thought, and he doesn’t have anything wrong/weird with how his brain works, so he thinks like a normal human. (Sometimes, Weaver has to remind himself that irony is flammable and that reasonable caution must be exercised.)

There I was, just a few minutes before sitting down to type this post, reading a book that I’ve been trying to read since sometime back in March, I think… Anyway, one of the minor characters — a normal human, by the way — makes an observation about another character to the protagonist of the story, something along the lines of, Didn’t you think it odd that this friend of yours never, ever talked about his past or his family or whatever?

…And there goes any possible metaphor/comparison thing twisting around backwards on itself. (Weren’t we, just the other day, thinking about what Geoffrey sort-of almost has in common with the character being discussed in that scene? *sigh* Dammit. That noise you hear in the distance is the sound of headcanon going BOOM!)

Anyway. I know lawyers are supposed to be suspicious above and beyond what’s normal for normal people, but since GM is also the “normal-person companion” in a work of fiction — at least as far as his backstory goes, because once you’ve been nabbed and taken to some futuristic alternate universe, I’m not sure you can properly call yourself normal anymore — he ought to have one or two traits in common with BR the NPC… He should have been asking questions all along. He should have been wondering what was going on with his housemate, that said housemate never, ever talked about his past or his family or whatever.

Granted, they’d only known each other for about a year before the attack of the inter-dimensional ninjas (not literally) happened, and all hell broke loose (not literally), and then they found out why so many people were trying to kill the guy the aforementioned inter-dimensional ninjas were chasing. Also, Geoffrey got shot. (Hey, if you haven’t read The Madness Engine yet, it’s not my responsibility to avoid spoilers about events that happened long before that novel anyway.) So he was a bit distracted around the time he finally acquired a reason to notice how strange the world really is. And it wouldn’t have done him any good to ask those awkward questions, because his housemate would have refused to answer. (Yes, as a matter of fact, there will be a subtle homage to BR and his “simple yes-or-no question” somewhere in “that novel.”)

…And look, that typo in the original edition of the book I’m reading is still there in the digital edition. That should be, “Kind of like Thomas Rhymer in the ballad.” In, not is. Dammit. It’s been irking me each time I see it for nearly thirty years. Grrr. Argh. I wish I could turn off my “literary superpower” for a little while, because I do not like seeing errors — even errors caused by some editor or typesetter and not the author — in a work of fiction I love, and since I can’t fix ’em, I’d rather not be aware of ’em. Dammit.

About Thomas Weaver

For several years, I’ve been putting my uncanny knack for grammar and punctuation, along with an eclectic mental collection of facts, to good use as a Wielder of the Red Pen of Doom (editor). I'm physically disabled, and I currently live with my smugly good-looking twin Paul, who writes military science fiction and refuses to talk about his military service because he can’t. Sometimes Paul and I collaborate on stories, and sometimes I just edit whatever he writes. It's worked out rather well so far. My list of non-writing-related jobs from the past includes librarian, art model, high school teacher, science lab gofer… Although I have no spouse or offspring to tell you about, I do have eight cats. I currently spend my time blogging, reading, editing, and fending off cats who like my desk better than my twin’s.
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