In his book, The Cat Who Walks through Walls, Robert Heinlein theorizes about the nature of reality and time. In his universe, Heinlein presents a multitude of worlds and realities all existing side by side. The universes created by writers are just as real as the readers’ universe and are waiting…
“Excuse me.”
“I can’t talk right now. Can’t you see I’m writing my blog post?”
“I can see that, but I have a question.”
“Make it quick. I don’t want to lose my train of thought.”
“When are you going to use my name?”
“Your name?”
“Yeah, my name. When you were outlining my, I mean, your story, you kept calling me Killer, but that makes me sound like some drug dealer’s 100-pound rottweiler.”
“The only drug dealer I’ve ever met with a rottweiler called his dog Lestat.”
“See–that’s the name of a killer.”
“It’s not your name.”
“I know, but I have a name. I’m not just a faceless person who goes around killing people in your novel. I have a life. I have a past. I’m not just a killer.”
“I did give you a son.”
“No. I already had a son. You just tapped into my reality to use for your own gain.”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted to tell a story and your son happened to be in it.”
“See–there you go again. My son has a name. It’s Elijah. And I have a name.”
“I haven’t thought of your name yet.”
“No–you just don’t know my name. Just like you don’t know a lot of things.”
“Like what? You like walking in the rain and watching the sunset?”
“No–like, when I was eight, I wanted to be a fireman.”
“So, instead of killing people, you wanted to save them?”
“It’s ironic, I know. But, you see, I never had a chance. My dad was never satisfied with who I was. My mom was busy with her career.”
“Wait! Wasn’t your dad a violent drunk and your mom a prostitute?”
“That’s just wrong. Just because I’m a sadistic killer that means I had to have a rotten childhood. I had everything I could want as a child, but the one thing I craved.”
“What was that?”
“My parents’ understanding.”
“Ouch. But that’s no excuse for doing what you do.”
“I’m not trying to make excuses. I am who I am. But the point I’m trying to make is that I have a name.”
“And that is?”
“Call me—”
“Yes?”
“Paul. My name is Paul.”
“That’s not the name I was going to give you.”
“I know, but it’s my universe.”
Beginning Again 