Well, sorry for the late post everyone. I was busy saving the world or something… (okay, I was tired.)
Anywho, so, from the title you’ve probably already guessed I’m (attempting to) doing a character interview. This could prove tough since I don’t want to give major spoilers away or anything. I’m going to be interviewing Jonathan Isreal Courage, (my MC). So, for those of you who don’t know, Jonathan is from my current work in progress titled…Jonathan Courage, it’s a working title. I have tried to explain this story. It ends up taking me like…fifteen minutes, at least. Basically, what you need to know, Jonathan is fourteen (at the moment, the book(s) span twelve years.) He has no living family, his twin brother Joshua, was killed in a flash flooding incident a couple of months ago. He’s now staying with an old friend of his father’s and his family. He’s just gained six older brothers and an older sister. I’ll stop now before I go into the entire plot.
Sd: So, Jonathan, let’s begin, shall we? If you could meet me, what would you ask or tell me?
JC: Why did you completely ruin my life for no apparent reason?!
Sd: Uh, moving on.
JC: *eye roll*, of course.
Sd: Tell me, Jonathan, what is your greatest fear?
JC: You didn’t tell me they were questions like this! I refuse to answer.
Sd: Under threat of torture?
JC: You’ve already destroyed my life, I don’t have much to lose.
Sd: Come now, Jonathan, if you don’t tell them, I will.
JC: what?! Fine… Ummm, I’m not sure, going to the doctor?
Sd: That was when you were five, Jonathan.
JC: I still don’t enjoy it.
Sd: No one enjoys going to the doctor! Please just tell us about your current greatest fear.
JC: You realize that is a very personal question?
Sd: I know everything about you. I could tell everyone about the time you-
JC: Fine! Ok. I have a fear of water. Swimming.
Sd: and why is that?
JC: Seriously?! Argh, just ’cause… Josh died in flash flooding, and I almost died. I just don’t like it much. Are you satisfied?
Sd: we are not done here yet.
JC: Why does this feel like an interrogation?
Sd: uh, I guess it is…kinda. I mean, I had to threaten you just to get you here.
JC: …let’s just get this over with.
Sd: Ooookay. Next question. What’s your best subject?
JC: does outdoor, survival, sports and running count?
Sd: well, I guess. But I meant, what is your best academic subject?
JC: *raises eyebrow* Oh, uh, English? Maybe. Apart from the fact that my current English teacher seems to love getting me to write essays on personal subjects that I would prefer not to talk about.
Sd: Interesting. Who is your best friend?
JC: Caleb Moore. We used to call him our triplet, he looked similar enough.
Sd: And when you refer to ‘we’ what do you mean?
JC: Joshua. My twin. I don’t want to talk about it.
Sd: you’re a little defensive and cagy, aren’t you?
JC: *glares* I don’t remember ever asking to do this.
Sd: *shrugs* when have you been most scared?
JC: Have I mentioned how much I’m hating these questions?
Sd: You’re being really annoying, Jonathan. I only have a few more questions, then I will let you go.
JC: Gee, thanks. You do know I’m stronger than you, right?
Sd: *smiles* just answer the question.
JC: *groans* fine. Probably when I almost died. Josh and I were hiking, flash floods…slot canyons. I woke up in hospital and Josh wasn’t there. *swallows* can I stop now?
Sd: Sorry we had to bring that up. Last question…for now. What is your hope and dream for the future?
JC: *sighs in relief* I want to be a Navy SEAL. Just like my dad. I want to make him proud. I…I just wish he’d be here to see it.
Sd: Thanks so much for joining me, Jonathan! Its been great.
JC: I wanna say ‘thanks for having me’ but that’d be a terrible lie. See ya around.
Well, there you have it, folks, sorry, would’ve done more questions but, in case you didn’t notice, Jonathan is not a huge fan of personal conversations. Anyway, to end with, here is a short exert from Jonathan Courage I know some of you have read it but its one of my, shall we say presentable pieces. 😉
I sat down on the edge of the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Tom’s warm, friendly smile made me feel a little less nervous. His eyes quickly brushed over my appearance then focused on my face.
I took a breath, “You said if I ever needed to talk, I could come see you.”
Tom nodded. “Yeah, of course. D’you need to talk?”
I looked down at my sweaty palms. Why on earth was I so nervous?
Why I was even doing this I don’t know. I wanted to talk, maybe I even needed to talk.
Tom gave me an encouraging nod. He reminded me of Dan.
“I was, uh, on my way back from school…”
“This late?” Tom glanced at his watch, “Why weren’t Jason and Ryan with you?”
“I um, sort of got detention…” I paused; how could I make this sound less bad then it was?
“Detention?” Tom encouraged. The way he asked questions, his eyes watching, interested, intent, and his attention firmly fixed, didn’t make you nervous, but instead made you want to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—probably the reason he made a good lawyer.
I squinted and scratched my neck. Usually, I didn’t have to grope like this for words.
“I got in a fight.” I blurted and let out a breath. There, I had said it. It wasn’t very inventive, but I’d said it. Isn’t that what matters?
I’m not sure I really needed to say it though. The black eye and the dried blood on the clean-this-morning white shirt may or may not have already spoken the obvious for me.
Tom leaned forward and waited for me to continue.
“That’s why I was in detention.” I paused again trying to organize the anger, frustration and confusing events in my head. I sighed and let myself slide back into the chair. “Did you ever get teased in school?” I asked suddenly.
Tom tilted his head. “You mean bullied.”
I shrugged. “Same thing.”
“Not quite. Are you?”
“You haven’t answered the question yet.” I reminded him.
Tom unfolded his arms and drummed his fingers on the table, not impatiently. A smile played on the corner of his lips.
“You’re an interesting one, I’ll give you that.” He murmured, studying me. “Alright,” He folded his arms on the desk. “Yes. I got bullied to an extent.” He paused. “I answered your question. Now it’s your turn to answer.”
I was quiet and considered my answer.
“Yes,” I answered simply, after debating myself for a few minutes. Tom was smart. He would be able to tell if I lied.
“About what?” Tom asked after a long pause.
“Take a guess.”
Tom laughed quietly. “So this is how we’re going to do it.” He leaned back and relaxed, folding his hands behind his head. “Alright. I’ll play along. My first guess would be the accent?”
“No problem there.”
Tom’s smile turned into a more serious look and he sat up. “Then it’s the fact no one knows where you came from and where your parents are. Am I right?”
I stood up and walked over to the window. As I shrugged, my hands involuntarily gripped the windowsill and I swallowed.
“Yeah.” I forced out. The chair creaked as Tom stood up and came to join me by the window. I focused my eyes on a pigeon on the sidewalk below. Tom’s hands rested on the sill beside mine, and I sighed. My shoulders sagged. “I don’t mind so much when they tease me. But I won’t stand by when they say things about my family—especially Dad.”
“Why don’t you just tell them the truth?” He made it sound so simple.
I didn’t answer.
“Oh, I see.” Tom opened the window to let the cool air into the stuffy room, then walked over to his desk, picked up an apple and studied it.
My stomach growled, reminding me I’d missed lunch. He must have heard because without warning he deftly tossed it to me behind his back.
I easily caught it and took a big bite out of it. It was a pink lady variety, large and hard, sweet and sour at the same time. For all, I cared it could taste like mango.
Tom bit into his apple, sat down on his padded swivel-chair, and swung his right leg over his left.
I sat back down in my chair and we finished our apples in silence. Well, I say silence, but apples are impossible to eat quietly.
Tom neatly threw his core into a trash can near the door so I did the same.
“So, Jonathan.” He began, then broke off, “do you want to go for a walk?”
I glanced at the clock on the wall and began to feel guilty. Mrs. Rogers would be worried.
“I’ll let her know,” Tom said as if he’d read my thoughts. He began stacking up the piles of paperwork and shoving some into his briefcase.
“Sure,” I said, standing up and swinging my bag onto my back.
Tom grabbed his bag and pulled a coat over his shirt. “Let’s go.” He called over his shoulder.
I followed Tom out of the room and into the elevator. As the sliding doors closed behind me, I stiffened and stared at the opposite ones, willing them to open quickly.
“You don’t like lifts very much,” Tom said without looking at me, more of a statement than a question.
It took me a second to remember that lift was British-lingo for elevator.
“Not much,” I said, relaxing again as the doors opened and we stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist looked up from his desk.
“You’re leaving, sir? Was everything alright?”
Tom smiled. “Yes, thanks, Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The air outside felt wet and fresh. The sky was still grey, and everything smelt washed. It had just stopped raining.
“Have you spoken to your teacher about this Jonathan?” Tom asked as we turned down the street into a small park.
Tom brushed the water off a bench and sat down. I sat next to him and leaned forward, my clasped hands and forearms resting on my spread knees. I focused my eyes onto a small boy holding his father’s hand.
“You know it would be easier to have a conversation if I wasn’t the only one talking.” Tom leaned forward to match my position.
He turned his head so his light blue eyes could look into my darker ones. I gave a half-smile and looked down at the floor.
“Sorry,” I said, after a moment of silence.
Tom shrugged. “Not a problem.”
We sat side by side for a while, watching the people walk past.
After about twenty minutes Tom stood up, “I’ll walk you home.”
Well, thanks everyone if you managed to stick around for the rather long post!
Have a good week!