The Dagny Ball

Ryan Edel

94 • Pencil Pusher

fiction, humor, short story, dagny

1st

Draft

Published on:

March 9, 6:33am

Word Count:

1710

Work Description

"Don't read about me. Get a life." --Dagny
("I mean it!")

This work is archived and isn't accepting critiques or comments. Why?

Page: «« 1 2 3 »»

Print after all, really exist, right? It’s all about you, isn’t it?

“It always has been,” she says.

Right. As if the readers will fall over themselves to read your stories.

“They will,” Dagny says. “What, you don’t believe me? Try publicity sometime. Learn to get your name out.”

Sure thing.

Dagny gives a sad smile at the door. She’s about to step into another dimension. It looks like somewhere fun she’s going. I hear the sounds of animals from the other side – the trumpet of elephants, the splash of water, the pop of the cork and the clink of Champaign.

“You can come, if you like,” she says. “Nothing really happens unless you’re there to write it.”

Really? I thought you had all these secret outside-the-narrative events to keep things interesting. Or did you just make that up for the sake of the story, eh? To make yourself sound cooler than you are?

“Suit yourself.” She pulls the door wide, steps out, and pulls the knob tight behind her. The sounds of the party die. The apartment falls silent. It’s just me, now, the narrator, occupying my protagonist’s empty apartment, and there’s nothing to do while she’s gone. No point in sitting on the setting, no reason to be, not even a hint of conflict. I should write in a colony of fire ants under her pillow out of spite.

**Go ahead and try,** she mutters through the ether. She is ever-present, never absent.

Right. I think I’ll go back to the website. Failure there seems so much better than failure here, in my own world.

**Suit yourself,** she calls. **Too bad you missed the antelopes. Oh, and the champagne. We don’t buy the cheap stuff, you know. Not like this one writer I know.**

Thanks, Dagny. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

**No point in paying if it don’t taste right, if you ask me.**

Can it, Dagny. You aren’t real.

**And neither are you.**

I’m more real than you.

**You’re the narrative voice.**

Does the narrative voice buy wine off the discount rack at the grocery store?

“Apparently he does,” Dagny says. She steps back in through the door, a happy smile fixed on her face. She looks tired but satisfied. Sweat glistens on her skin, and her dress is wrinkled in all the places you’d expect from a long night of dancing.

“At least I know how to have fun,” she says. “Better than making some poor Thai girlfriend feel bad before –”

Can it, Dagny.

“Oh, I’m not your mother,” Dagny says. “I’m even less responsive to that.”

And with that, she’s in her chic pajamas – long white cotton pants and a baggy top. She cuffs the sleeves. Her forearms are petite lines of peach descending from the balled up ends of the fabric. She hops up on her futon and crosses her legs. She leans back and closes her eyes.

What, no shower?

“Don’t need it,” she says. “I smell like heaven.”

Great. My protagonist smells like heaven. And what about when this book begins to rot? When time and mold take their toll? What are you gonna smell like then?

“Heaven.”

She smirks at a hidden memory. She shifts her legs as if remembering something –

Her eyes pop open. “Don’t you dare think I’ve let my guard down.”

What, afraid you’ll sound too sexy?

“Afraid you’ll make me a sex toy.”

And what’s wrong with that?

Dagny rolls her eyes. “You never learn, do you?”

Learn what?

“Exactly.”

I look away a moment, think about it, figure I should type in more for an ending. “About time,” Dagny agrees, rubbing her eyes. “I’m tire, and I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Really? What are you doing tomorrow?

“I dunno. Whatever it is you’re not doing.”

You mean working?

“I mean living the good life.” She gives me one last wicked smile before clicking off the light. She fluffs her pillow in the dark, wiggles until she’s comfortable, and then tries to fall asleep. It’s hard. She’s still thinking, thinking about her party, thinking about the men she invited, thinking about the vanilla extract she dabbed around her neck and never washed off. It feels grimy now that she’s been sweating, but she’s too lazy to get up and take a shower.

“Go away,” she says, eyes still closed. “I smell like heaven.”

And you’ll itch like a dog come morning.

“Nope, not me,” she says. “Not unless you write it that way.”

And if I do?

Dagny begins

Page: «« 1 2 3 »»

Rate This Work

Your honest rating will help the author improve, and you'll earn a little karma too.

Please log in to rate.

Discussion

Print Discussion

Mari H.

8 • Scribbler

You did a great job making your muse seem real. I felt like I was watching a movie as opposed to reading a story. I could picture you even though you didn't described yourself and I can picture her looking like a sexy diva from the 1950's even though that may not have been your intention. Your description of her was so clear I really did enjoy your piece.

I am not a seasoned writer by any means but rather a beginner but your story left me wanting more.

Joey D.T.

21 • Scribbler

Bravo. I enjoyed this piece start to finish. Halfway through I think I may have found myself drooling for the next sentence before I had even finished the one I was reading. Brilliant work. I can still smell the vanilla extract. The comedy was great. Perfectly executed. I can't tell you the last time I enjoyed reading an online piece this much. I don't know if I ever have. The relationship you created with Dagny was more than believable, it was desirable. The story was very creative. If I were to plagiarize a work from Scribophile, it would definitely be this one. I only noticed one error and it was obviously overlooked by sheer accident.

I look away a moment, think about it, figure I should type in more for an ending. “About time,” Dagny agrees, rubbing her eyes. “I’m tire, and I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Nothing that matters, I just thought you might want to know. This work was great and you can definitely expect me to read your other pieces. You have gained a fan today.

Isabella Scott

41 • Pencil Pusher

You did a great job on this piece! I loved it from start to finish! You did a really good job of making Dagny seem real, and a really good job of making sure the reader knew she wasn't. I really enjoyed this story and I plan to follow ti, just to tell you. Keep it up and keep doing what you're doing because I loved it!

Timothy Uptain

103 • Paper Jockey

Sheer fluff and votes of good confidence do not help you much, but you have mine. It was a good read, very reminiscient of the relationship between Lasciel, a fallen angel, and the narrator of the Dresden Files, Harry Dresden. Their constant inner dialogue through much of the later books went a long like this, with quips back and forth, though with more hidden agendas. Have you read any Butcher?

I assume Dagny is a recurring character, I will have to check out your other works.

Ryan Edel

94 • Pencil Pusher

I want to thank you guys for your feedback - I'm really glad you all enjoyed this one. Dagny is a recurring character (the kind that just keeps coming back), and I'll have more stories like this coming soon.

I'm afraid I haven't read the Dresden Files, but I've seen them in the bookstores and may have to check them out. I've heard that Jasper Ford's work also has some great similarities to Dagny stories in terms of metafiction and humor.

One thing I've noticed for writing stories like this is that I really have to let the characters do whatever. Dagny, though, seems to have found a voice all her own. They really are their own people, in a way.

(Says Dagny: "I'm my own person? All I get is that blatent crud? Stupid ingrate. How about you just walk over a bridge and never come back.")

Remove these ads