oak tree in your front yard.”
“I don't believe you. I read Elfquest, and an elf is a supernatural being with magical powers, not a disembodied force living in a tree.”
“Very well, I guess I will need to prove it to you. The elves of your world’s legends are based on me and are endowed with many of the powers and abilities that I truly have. Here's a good one.”
And with that Rick was lifted up in the air, hovering a foot above the chair. He waved his arms wildly and kicked his feet but remained levitated. It was very disconcerting and he shouted, “Put me down!”
“Anything you say.” said the disembodied voice, and he came crashing back down to earth.
“Ouch!” said Rick.
“Believe me now?” said the voice.
“That wasn't funny, and it hurt.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Before I answer you have to promise – no more lifting and dropping.”
“OK, I promise.”
“Then, no I don't believe you.” Rick cringed and closed his eyes, expecting to be knocked about again, but nothing happened.
“OK.”, said the voice with a hint of what Rick detected as exasperation, “Last one. This is called rock shaping – it's the ability to sculpt and mold solid rock. ”
Rick kept a Zen sand garden on his desk. It had a wooden frame, a miniature hoe, and seven rocks nestled in white sand. As Rick watched, the rocks began to move, to float in the air. They came together and melded into one multicolor stone and spun around in a circle. How's that?” said the voice.
Rick sat mesmerized by the vision. “That – is impressive. How did you do that?”
“I told you, I am an ELF, and I have powers.”
Rick didn't know exactly who, or what, was talking to him but it was obviously not a simple practical joke, it was actually starting to freak him out. He looked around the room and found nothing or no one; he looked at his computer screen, and then said, “Just a minute.” Then he ran like the dogs of hell were on his heels. He ran down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the back yard. He stood panting in the rain. It was 15 minutes or more before he was able to compose himself, his breathing slowed and the panic lessened. He still did not know what was going on, but it was clear that this was not one of Bob's little pranks. He didn't know of any way that he could be levitated like that, or how someone could talk to him inside his head. And the floating, melding rocks – forget about it! As old Sherlock Holmes would say (more or less) 'if you get rid of everything that can't be, what you have left has got to be it!' That meant that as much as he couldn't believe it he had an ELF living inside his computer, but the real question was what to do about it. He was starting to shake, the rain was cold and he was once again drenched, so he went back inside and stood in the kitchen trying to figure out what to do next. Finally, he climbed the stairs and entered his bedroom. He changed, again, and prepared himself for the walk down the hall to his office, and the confrontation with the ELF.
Sitting at his desk, he looked at the screen, his prepared question ready, but before he could speak the ELF beat him to it. “Hello again. I'm glad you came back, so let's talk.”
OK”, said Rick, “You said my computer wasn't crashed, so why is the screen multicolor?”
“Because I like multicolor, consider it remodeling.” came the voice.
“Look, I'm a writer and all my stuff is on that computer, is that still all right?”
“It's fine, but I don't know why you're concerned, you may say you're a writer but believe me, I've had time to read your stuff....”
“What is that suppose to mean?” retorted Rick.
“I've read better writing carved in the side of trees.”
“How would you know what good writing is?” fumed Rick, “You're not even real!”
“Do I have to demonstrate how real I am?” said the voice.
Rick come feel himself rising up from the chair, “No, wait.” he shouted, “I believe you.” His butt couldn't take much more pounding.
“That's better.” said the voice, and Rick floated gently back down again.
“I's sorry, it's just that you insulted my stuff. What do you know about writing, aren’t you just a force – you know, may the force be with you?”
“Ever hear this – What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. I wrote that.”
Rick smiled, “Next time you try to prank someone about their writing you should probably choose a slightly less well know writer, William Shakespeare wrote that.”
“No”, came the reply, “Will wrote What's in a name? If you call a rose a tulip it's still going to be a rose. I gave him that other name stuff.”
Rick was incredulous. “I don't know how you are doing this, but it doesn't give you the right to criticize my work.”
“True, but someone needs to tell you. Your stuff sucks.” said the voice. “Now, don't go getting your britches in a knot, you wouldn't be the first guy who thought they were a legend in their own mind. You ever read any Hemingway?”
“Of course.” pouted Rick. “He's one of the greatest writers in history.”
“Not when I knew him. I can remember how he struggled with the old man and the sea. He just could not come up with a good opening line. I was living in a tree outside his house at the time, and we would talk for hours, and I would ask him what image he was trying to convey. “I want to project a sense of failure, of being alone and at the end of his rope. I want pathos!” he would say to me. I told him he should write about the fact that the old guy fished alone in a small boat out in the middle of the Gulf, and it had been a really long time since he'd caught anything. The next day he came up with the line He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without a fish. That's good stuff.”
“Yes, it is.” mused Rick, and it got him thinking; maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. “Who else have you helped?”
“Lots of people. Remember Call me Ishmael, from Moby Dick? Melville wanted to use the name Irvin. I talked him out of it. Then there was Arthur Conan Doyle. I'm the one that gave him the name Sherlock. Seriously, have you ever heard of anyone called Sherlock? It was unique and it set his character apart, he wanted to call the guy Carol.”
“So.”, asked the now totally intrigued Rick, “If I allow you to stay in my computer, what's in it for me?”
“I guess I could help you with your stuff. Good Lord knows, I couldn't make it any worse.” said the voice.
Swallowing his pride, Rick said, “OK, smart guy, or is it girl, let's see what you got.”
“It's neither, guy or girl, I just am. Do you have anything in particular that you want help with? From what I've read of your stuff this is going to be a challenge.”
“Enough sarcasm; let me think about this and I will get back to you.” And with that, Rick exited the room. He had a lot of thinking to do!
It wasn't until the next afternoon that Rick returned to his writing alcove. By that time he'd had a good night’s rest, and he'd decided that yesterday was all a bad dream. The storm must have been more unsettling then he realized, after all, who talked to an Electromagnetic Life Form living in a computer? He sat down in front of the screen and raised his hands to the keyboard, it was time to find out how much damage had been.
He hit the ESC key and the voice was back. “Good morning, Rick. How did you sleep?”
He was startled, but resigned. He hadn't imagined it, it was really happening. “Hello. What should I call you?”
“My complete name is long and difficult for you to pronounce, Lu-e is fine. So, what happens next?”
“I have no clue.”
“Fair enough, how about we just start right in; I have read your 'Novel', and believe me we can spend the next couple weeks on just the first paragraph. Why don't you tell me what you're trying to say?”
&nbs
p; “I'm trying to set the scene, you know, the mood. It isn't so bad it just needs some fine tuning.”
“Fine tuning? Compared to your book the Federal Government needs fine tuning, your book needs resuscitation; it needs Dr. Frankenstein to pay it a visit.”
“OK wise guy, how would you start it?”, Rick was humiliated by Lu-e's words but had to admit that most of the letters he'd received from publishers carried similar sentiments. He was becoming desperate, so he swallowed his pride and waited.
“Let me bring it up here.” said Lu-e. In a matter of seconds his novel was displayed on the screen and the cursor was moving without him. “Now, the first sentence is the most important one, it sets the mood and draws the reader in. It has to grab them. Here's what you wrote:
Jon Brighten was a small person of middle age. He was the kind of guy that nobody said hello to, but everybody said good-by”.
Seriously, are you writing a comedy?”
“No. It's murder thriller. What's wrong with those lines, don't they get the point across?” said Rick.
“Only if the point is that you want the reader to throw the book down and go screaming from the room. How about something like this?
Jon Brighten was a nondescript little man on the cusp of middle-age anonymity. He was the kind of guy that you might meet at a party and, later, never recall doing so.
Now that has some style to it.”
Rick had to admit that Lu-e's lines did have a nice ring to them, especially that cusp of middle-age anonymity part, although he wasn't going to tell him that. “It's OK, I think mine is just as good, but for the sake of argument I will accept yours.”
“I tell you what, you could take a few days off and I will spend some time with it. We can take a look at what we have when you get back.”
It ended up being five days, and when he got back it all seemed like a dream. Could this thing, this ELF, do what he had said he could? Was he coming back to find that it was all a delusion, nothing had changed, and his book was still incomplete? “I guess I might as well find out.” he said, and headed for his writing alcove.
“Hello, Rick. Welcome back.” said the voice known as Lu-e.
“Hello, Lu-e. Thanks. What have you got for me?” He was anxious, but tried not to show it.
“It's in the printer. I took the liberty of printing out a copy for you to read.”
Rick walked to the printer and picked up the thick volume of paper in the tray. He walked out of the room and went downstairs to his easy chair where he would be comfortable as he read. Turning to the first page, it began: Jon Brighten was a nondescript little man on the cusp of middle-age anonymity....
By the time he finished it was 3 o'clock the next morning. He couldn't eat or sleep; he barely took the time to go to the bathroom to relieve himself. The book was incredible, a page turner, a roller coaster ride of thrills. It was fantastic. He'd followed the outline Rick had written, but the content was all Lu-e's. Rick had to admit the truth, Lu-e was good. Getting up from his chair he made the slow climb to the top of the stairs and down the hall. He entered the room, he was dreading the conversation that was about to take place.
“Hello, Rick.” said Lu-e.
“Hello, Lu-e.”, said Rick. “I read it, and I have to admit that it is fantastic. I have no doubt that it could be a best seller.”
“Thank you, Rick.” said Lu-e.
“So, how does a disembodied electrical entity go about getting a book published, and where do they send the royalty checks?” He was trying to be glib, but he knew that he would never be the writer that Lu-e was.
“That's easy.” Lu-e replied, “You publish it under your name. The money is yours, I don't need it. All I need it a place to hang my metaphorical hat, and this computer is just fine. Besides, I don't want the fame I just like to play the game.”
Rick thought about that for a moment, and then he said, “I can't do that, it would be cheating. I want to write great novels, not be a shill for some alien Isaac Asimov.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” said Lu-e.
“What?”
“I said”, said Lu-e, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks. It's from Hamlet. You know, Shakespeare?”
“And I suppose you wrote that for him.” said Rick.
“Well, I'm not one to brag, but...”
“Alright, I get it, I get it. What exactly are you proposing?”
“You can come up with the story outline and I can write the book. You can help, of course, a little, but I can do all the heavy lifting so to speak. You publish them under your name and keep the money; I get a place to live and no prying eyes. We both win – deal?”
Rick contemplated the offer and try as he might he could not see anything wrong with it. The only thing lost was his pride, and what little he had was no big loss. “Lu-e”, Rick said, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
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