From: procaid@hotmail.com
Date: August 15, 1999
To: b5-creative@lists.best.com
Subject: When Characters Won't Do What They're Told

I'm taking a short break from the babylonian Chronichles to get this out of 
my system. No real spoilers. This is based on something I read recently. 
Babylonian chronicles chapter 4 will be out soon, I promise, assuming anyone 
actually wants to see the other two parts.



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I have this problem where after I've written a few stories, no matter how 
many new ideas I get I have trouble writing. For years this bothered me and 
kept me from doing major stories. One day it struck me: the character were 
running away. I would start writing, and *poof*! The character would escape 
and not be transcribed.
I realised that they were moving and not leaving forwarding addresses.
Eventually, I tracked down a Bester where he was hiding out with with some 
X-Men. It was lucky for me that an extra Walter Keoing couldn't hide too 
well on a planet as obsessed with ST and B5 as ours.

   "Since the last time we worked together," Bester said to me, "I've met 
this wonderful red headed telepath, I've got a good job, I've got respect in 
my community. I make huge winnings at casinos. When I was working with you, 
I spent all night poring over ancient texts in languages I barely knew, and 
spent all day running away from other telepaths, soldiers, monsters. And 
when it was all done, I had nothing to show for it but another few blips 
arrested, some new scars, and a therapist bill I would have still been 
paying off when humans Became."
   "It won't be rangers this time," I said.
   "Oh, of course not. I know all about escaping rangers now. It'll be 
something else, probably something that I've never heard of that was 
invented by H.P. Lovecraft. I remeber that vampire story where the surprise 
ending was the werewolf! And what about that one with Godzilla?"
   "Look, all this is negotiable," I said. "Let me introduce you to... 
hrm... a nice minbari telepath? Or maybe a psi-corps officer, you'll like 
her, she's a stunning blonde, eyes as blue as the sea, endearing mole on the 
back of her hand..."
   "Come off it. Once we defeat the weresnails or whatever it is you've got 
waiting in the wings, we're supposed to settle down? I'm  Alfred Bester, for 
crying out loud. She's supposed to give up her life of blip-hunting to go to 
some space station with me so we can get arrested together?"
    "Well, you could show the power of the dark side."
    "Terrific. Then fly off in my Black Omega X-Wing and get blown out of 
the sky by the Enterprise I suppose. And what are we going to talk about 
over the Sunday ISN broadcast? `My goodness, honey, it sure is terrific 
being able to spend time with you without having to make sure I've got a 
silver dagger where I can reach it.'"
    I was desperate. "What could I say to convince you?"
    "'I'm writing erotica now.'"

    I haven't written many new Bester stories since then, but there's always 
hope.
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It's over, you can go home now.
Unless you are home.
Then you can turn off the computer.
C;mon, click on the start button... that's it... now the shutdown key...