My Literary Alter Ego Is an Honors Student

I've read interviews where published authors say that they never base their characters on themselves or people they know; they claim that their characters are completely original and come from their imagination, not their daily lives. I find that a little hard to believe, because I think that the people in our lives inspire us to write.

On the other hand, the characters in my fiction aren't carbon copies of the people in my life. I wouldn't want to get sued, for one thing. I also wouldn't want people to come up to me and say, "That character is nothing like me! I'm a much better friend than that! Is it really so bad that I always tell you about how much fun I have with my other friends without ever inviting you to come with us? And so what if I always call you at the last minute? Why wouldn't you want to drop everything and hang out with me?"

In one of the stories I'm writing, my main character is a lot like me. I like the idea of having a literary alter ego, because this person gets to do and say all the things that I don't get to do or say in real life. I also like the idea of having a literary alter ego who is tougher and more honest than I am. In my story, this person isn't afraid to stand up to all the people who are mean to her; these people are the disguised literary alter egos of the people who treat me like crap in real life.

For example, yesterday I was walking around the lobby of my building, and I saw a woman standing at the front door. I didn't open the door for her because I didn't know her, and I'd really rather not let strangers into my building. But she banged on the door after I walked by. She was on the phone, and apparently she didn't want to interrupt her conversation, or maybe she didn't have the strength to use her bony fingers (which reminded me of the fingers that I saw on the Witch in the most recent episode of Once Upon a Time) to open the door herself. Or maybe she was just lazy. Either way, when I opened the door for her, she glared at me and was extremely sarcastic and rude with me for not opening the door for her.

I just mumbled something at her and walked away. But my literary alter ego would be a lot braver than that. She'd yell back, "Why are you just standing there? What, do you think you're in an episode of Downton Abbey? I am NOT your butler and you are NOT a 'lady'; you're a LOSER!" or "You do realize that when you're extremely rude like that, I will have no choice but to trip you on the way to the elevator, right?" or "I'd whap that cell phone right out of your hand with my bag of M&Ms if there wasn't the risk that the bag would break and then I wouldn't get to eat the M&Ms. Of course, there's always the possibility that you could slip and fall on them, and then I could stand there and laugh maniacally at you."

There's a really cute, muscular guy at my gym who works out at the same times that I do. I always see him running on the treadmill while I'm working out on the elliptical. Sometimes I keep exercising just so I can stare at his, um...pants a little bit longer. But I've never mustered enough courage to say anything to him. I'm too shy to even jog on the treadmill next to him, because I'm afraid that I might do that thing where I slip and fall on the treadmill before sliding off of it face-down.

But my literary alter ego would have the guts to walk up to him and talk to him. And in my story, he would turn out to be a nice guy who liked her back, not a guy who'd be more likely to dismiss her in favor of one of the girls who always does sit-ups in a tight sports bra in front of the guys who lift weights.

I applied to teach a class this summer, but I didn't get the job. It bothers me that I will have to work ANOTHER awful summer job that makes me so stressed out I start hallucinating and think that bugs are crawling up my arms. I definitely can't just work another retail job, though, because most retail jobs don't pay enough and I've gone into debt because of that fact. So I have to look around for something better.

My literary alter ego, though, wouldn't have to work a crappy summer job. She'd do something that I've always wanted to do, like take a cross-country road trip by herself. AND she'd be a much better driver than I am, seeing as how I can't even park a car without gritting my teeth and shrieking, "Don't hit anything, don't hit anything, don't hit anything, EEEEEEPS!!!" until the car is safely in place. Or she'd have the money to travel to Europe and try new foods and learn the languages; she'd take a bunch of pictures and write about everything that she saw and experienced.

She wouldn't have to spend the summer saying stuff like, "Would you like to sign up for the store's credit card?" while thinking, "Oh, don't even bother. You could get the same stuff that you just bought at a discount store for half the price, but I can't tell you that because it's bad for business. I also don't want to tell you that, seeing as how you just yelled at me for not accepting your expired coupons and because you tried on twenty different items of clothing and only bought one. So what do I care if you just spent more money than I'll earn in an entire shift? Not that I'm BITTER or anything."

I do take things from my real life and put them in my fiction; for example, I write about online dating, teaching, those moments of loneliness, confusion, disillusionment, frustration, and fear that all thirtysomethings and twentysomethings feel at some point, life in Chicago, etc., etc. Writing helps me analyze what happened to me, and in many cases I get to write about what I would have liked to have happened instead. And having a literary alter ego makes it even better, because even if I can't do everything that I want to do in real life, she can. But it doesn't always come without consequences for her, though. I figure that if problems do come up, then a plot will develop as well. And that makes the story even more interesting.

What about you? Do you have a literary alter ego in your fiction? What is she/he like?

(Side note: I was an honors student when I was younger. So that's at least one reason I'm not envious of my literary alter ego.)