Passing Strangers

Photo by Luke Southern on Unsplash

As I sit here in the early morning, with the sun peeking above the rooftops and no sounds other than the deep purr of my cat and the click clack of laptop keys, I realise that I have not spent much time on writing lately.

At least not much on this writing that I once found such new passion for.

I have discussed business rates at length with someone and pointed out all the errors on another's website.

And whilst writing of any kind is a form of creativity it is not the creativity I want.

My problem is passing strangers. Not only the ones that stop and demand my time and mind, but the ones in my book.

Characters that had not appeared in this tale before but now have such importance that it is not enough to have them wander in and out of the work saying only a few lines.

Shakespeare made that mistake and Tom Stoppard corrected it.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern die without mention.

They come in and do their friendly bit with Hamlet who then wanders off to go mad without them and they are left kicking around Elsinore until we hear that they are dead.

Endings like that can have their place. To end abruptly and mysteriously creates a renewed interest.

How many times have you wanted a show and a favourite character has abruptly died or done something you would never have expected?

A good story will give you feelings for all the characters.

It will make you miss the characters you hate as deeply as you mourn the ones you have loved.

Ever character must have a purpose and be sufficiently rounded for you to want to know what happens to them.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern do not create any feelings, they are written like a hurried thought of how the king can try to stop Hamlet's decent into insanity.

The reason they are there is Hamlet, and they do nothing to change the course of his tale or even add to it.

Is that why their ending is so unceremonious?

A postscript an afterthought.

As if Shakespeare had written them and forgotten them until his proof-reader said, “What happened to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern”?

To which Shakespeare slaps his hand to his forehead with a ‘Duh!’ worthy of Homer Simpson and hurriedly decides they should be dead because he has not time to create more for them, the play is due on soon.

And this new character is now staring at me from the blank screen. I can see his pale eyes, and unkempt brown hair.

He is willing me to create him, not just give him a line and an exit direction. He wants to be involved.

He wants to be. the person in the back of your mind as you read. The one you wonder about twelve pages after he left as another character mentions his name casually.

He does not want to be a Rosencrantz or Guildenstern.

Get me criticising Shakespeare, one of the greatest writers in the English language, who has been performed and printed more times than I ever will.

But even he made mistakes.

There is comfort in that.