Scene: A dimly lit interview studio. Cathy sits across from an unshaven, bleary-eyed man in a dressing gown covered in biscuit crumbs. Reality around them flickers like a glitchy video feed.
CATHY: Welcome to the programme. I understand you're responsible for the recent... irregularities in reality.
AUTHOR: (blinking) Oh. Uh. Yeah. Probably. Bit of a rough draft situation, you know? Things got away from me.
CATHY: People are reporting inconsistent memories, objects changing colour at random, and at least one case of a man waking up to find he was—
(A loud pop. The chair Cathy was sitting on turns into a Victorian chaise lounge mid-sentence. She does not react.)
CATHY: —a Victorian chimney sweep halfway through breakfast. Any comment?
AUTHOR: (scribbling in a notebook) Ooh, that’s good. Chimney sweep—very Dickensian. I should lean into that. Maybe add a plague?
CATHY: Fascinating. And what exactly is your process here? Do you have a guiding vision, or is this more of a ‘throw spaghetti at the wall’ situation?
AUTHOR: (offended) Excuse me. There is method to my madness. Well, not method exactly. More like, I get ideas and then I change my mind halfway through. Like just now—I was thinking you should have a hat.
(A ping. Cathy is suddenly wearing a massive, wide-brimmed purple hat covered in peacock feathers.)
CATHY: And why did you feel this was necessary?
AUTHOR: Adds character. Makes you pop. I was also considering making you a sentient cloud of gas, but I figured that might impact the flow of conversation.
CATHY: How considerate. Now, on the topic of coherence—
(A gaping void opens in the ceiling. A giraffe in a tiny waistcoat pokes its head through and waves.)
CATHY: —what would you say to critics who claim your narrative lacks it?
AUTHOR: Ugh. Critics. Always going on about ‘structure’ and ‘logic.’ Ever tried writing a universe? It’s hard! Sometimes you forget things. Like, did I ever explain where gravity went? (He scribbles something. The coffee cup on the table begins slowly floating upward.)
CATHY: I see. And are you making any attempt to correct these inconsistencies, or are we all at the mercy of your whims?
AUTHOR: Oh, I’ll sort it. I just have to, you know, want to. And right now, I think it would be much funnier if everyone had an extra arm.
(Bing! Cathy now has a third arm. She calmly picks up her coffee with it.)
CATHY: And what, ultimately, do you hope to achieve with this?
AUTHOR: Well, ideally, I’d like to get paid. But barring that, I just want to keep things interesting. Imagine a world where everything made sense. Dreadful! No surprise parties! No giraffes in waistcoats! No—
(The giraffe clears its throat meaningfully. The author scribbles something. It now wears a top hat.)
AUTHOR: Much better.
CATHY: Indeed. One final question—
(A loud crack. The studio suddenly shifts. Cathy and the author are now sitting in a canoe on a vast ocean.)
CATHY: —are you at all concerned about the ethical implications of treating reality like your personal sandbox?
AUTHOR: Hm. Good point. (He thinks. A long pause.) …Nope.
(The canoe turns into a rollercoaster. Cathy sighs, adjusts her hat, and holds onto her coffee as they plummet.)
