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The ghost writer
INTRODUCTION: In 2008 the James Bond novel Devil May Care written by Sebastian Faulks was released. I was surprised that a book about a character created by another author had been written. These days it happens alot. But at the time it inspired me to write this story:
The Ghost Writer
The day Sebastian Faulks was asked to write a new James Bond novel was an exciting day. It was an honour and a privilege to be considered worthy of continuing Ian Fleming's brilliant work. Fleming had created one of the most famous and long lasting characters of all time and Sebastian now had the exhilarating and yet rather daunting opportunity to carry on in his stead. As he went to bed that night, sleep eluded him the more he thought about it. He wanted to be up early the next morning so he could start researching James Bond as a character. That very day he'd gone out and bought the James Bond books box set and the complete movie collection box set. Atleast his research would be fun. But an early start requires a good nights sleep. Sebastian began to clear his mind and relax his muscles. He was just beginning to drift off when he began to detect the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and coughed.
"The smoke bothering you is it?" A voice enquired out of nowhere. Sebastian sat bolt upright. There, sat on the end of his bed, legs crossed, back straight, hand held casually in the air with a cigarette between his fingers, was a pale, transparent apparition of Ian Fleming himself.
"Oh Christ" Sebastian breathed.
"No! My books were never as popular as his book. The best selling book in the world that one. Although Jesus wasn't actually the author of the Bible was he? It had many writers in fact. Besides I'm getting distracted"
The ghost took in another gulp of cigarette smoke and blew it out slowly, watching it billow out towards the ceiling. Ian returned his gaze back to Sebastian. "So old boy! You want to write a James Bond novel? Sebastian Faulks opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. For the first time in his life words failed him.
"Oh you can't be much of a writer if you can't even compose a simple response to a simple question! The bloody audacity to think that you can just assume that it would be alright with me. Oh absolutely, go right ahead. Take my creation and do as you would with him. I don't mind a bit." The ghosts words were thick with sarcasm.
Sebastian suddenly felt the need to jump to his own defense. "Now hold on a minute. What about all the films that were absolutely nothing like the books? You didn't feel the need to haunt the script writers did you?"
The ghost snorted with derision. "I don't have much respect for films. They are mostly for people who don't have the ability, inclination or imagination to read a book. My books however, were my creations, my masterpieces and I'm not going to let some..." Ians nose flared indignatly before continuing. "Some living person taking my work and making a mockery of it!"
Sebastian leaned back against the headboard fearfully. What did Ian Fleming have planned for him. Would he end up like one of the supervillains in his books? What grisly outcome would befall him?
Ian Fleming let go a drawn out sigh. "This is what's going to happen, young man. And there will be no compromising. You have no creative influence in the writing of 'your' James Bond book what so ever. I will tell you what to write and you WILL write it word for word, without comment."
Sebastians jaw dropped. This was worse than any grisly death. He was to be used as a puppet to write someone else's story and he was strictly prohibited from being creative. Which was his only reason for writing: to create something special that was his own and no one else's. And now that was being taken away from him. Sebastian felt a sudden uncontrollable anger that made his face flush a scarlet red. "I won't do it, damn you! Being creative is my life, it's what I live for!" Sebastian sat back shocked by his own defiance.
Ian Fleming was suddenly on his feet, hovering over Faulks, fury in his eyes, in his stance, in the very air around him, oozing from his ghostly pores.
Sebastian felt a terrible chill run up his spine, he was certain that the temperature in the room had taken a drastic nose dive.
"YOU HAVE A LIFE!" Fleming cried out. "I'VE BEEN DEAD NEARLY 50 YEARS! IN ALL THAT TIME I'VE CREATED NOTHING!" The ghost began to calm down. "Death is a cold and lonely place to be! I miss life! I miss writing!"
Sebastian thought he could see the hint of tears in the corners of Ians eyes. His own anger subsided and in its place there was empathy. "I'm sorry," said Sebastian. "I didn't understand. I didn't know. I can't imagine going for so long without writing. Without creating something with my mind, my soul and my hands."
Sebastian looked into the glistening, haunting eyes of Ian Fleming who drew yet again on his cigarette, staring back. "I will help you," Sebastian smiled.
Smoke drifted out the side of Ians mouth before he smiled back. "Thank you! Tomorrow, we work!" He said as he gradually faded away.
So it came to pass that a book was written from beyond the grave.
THE END
Authors note: After I read Devil May Care I realised that it certainly wasn't Ian Flemings work as Sebastian Faulks style is very literary. In fact I've never read anything quite like it before. It was beautifully written whilst still retaining the tension and excitement of a Bond novel. I definitely recommend it.
© Andrew J Sinclair
The Ghost Writer
The day Sebastian Faulks was asked to write a new James Bond novel was an exciting day. It was an honour and a privilege to be considered worthy of continuing Ian Fleming's brilliant work. Fleming had created one of the most famous and long lasting characters of all time and Sebastian now had the exhilarating and yet rather daunting opportunity to carry on in his stead. As he went to bed that night, sleep eluded him the more he thought about it. He wanted to be up early the next morning so he could start researching James Bond as a character. That very day he'd gone out and bought the James Bond books box set and the complete movie collection box set. Atleast his research would be fun. But an early start requires a good nights sleep. Sebastian began to clear his mind and relax his muscles. He was just beginning to drift off when he began to detect the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and coughed.
"The smoke bothering you is it?" A voice enquired out of nowhere. Sebastian sat bolt upright. There, sat on the end of his bed, legs crossed, back straight, hand held casually in the air with a cigarette between his fingers, was a pale, transparent apparition of Ian Fleming himself.
"Oh Christ" Sebastian breathed.
"No! My books were never as popular as his book. The best selling book in the world that one. Although Jesus wasn't actually the author of the Bible was he? It had many writers in fact. Besides I'm getting distracted"
The ghost took in another gulp of cigarette smoke and blew it out slowly, watching it billow out towards the ceiling. Ian returned his gaze back to Sebastian. "So old boy! You want to write a James Bond novel? Sebastian Faulks opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. For the first time in his life words failed him.
"Oh you can't be much of a writer if you can't even compose a simple response to a simple question! The bloody audacity to think that you can just assume that it would be alright with me. Oh absolutely, go right ahead. Take my creation and do as you would with him. I don't mind a bit." The ghosts words were thick with sarcasm.
Sebastian suddenly felt the need to jump to his own defense. "Now hold on a minute. What about all the films that were absolutely nothing like the books? You didn't feel the need to haunt the script writers did you?"
The ghost snorted with derision. "I don't have much respect for films. They are mostly for people who don't have the ability, inclination or imagination to read a book. My books however, were my creations, my masterpieces and I'm not going to let some..." Ians nose flared indignatly before continuing. "Some living person taking my work and making a mockery of it!"
Sebastian leaned back against the headboard fearfully. What did Ian Fleming have planned for him. Would he end up like one of the supervillains in his books? What grisly outcome would befall him?
Ian Fleming let go a drawn out sigh. "This is what's going to happen, young man. And there will be no compromising. You have no creative influence in the writing of 'your' James Bond book what so ever. I will tell you what to write and you WILL write it word for word, without comment."
Sebastians jaw dropped. This was worse than any grisly death. He was to be used as a puppet to write someone else's story and he was strictly prohibited from being creative. Which was his only reason for writing: to create something special that was his own and no one else's. And now that was being taken away from him. Sebastian felt a sudden uncontrollable anger that made his face flush a scarlet red. "I won't do it, damn you! Being creative is my life, it's what I live for!" Sebastian sat back shocked by his own defiance.
Ian Fleming was suddenly on his feet, hovering over Faulks, fury in his eyes, in his stance, in the very air around him, oozing from his ghostly pores.
Sebastian felt a terrible chill run up his spine, he was certain that the temperature in the room had taken a drastic nose dive.
"YOU HAVE A LIFE!" Fleming cried out. "I'VE BEEN DEAD NEARLY 50 YEARS! IN ALL THAT TIME I'VE CREATED NOTHING!" The ghost began to calm down. "Death is a cold and lonely place to be! I miss life! I miss writing!"
Sebastian thought he could see the hint of tears in the corners of Ians eyes. His own anger subsided and in its place there was empathy. "I'm sorry," said Sebastian. "I didn't understand. I didn't know. I can't imagine going for so long without writing. Without creating something with my mind, my soul and my hands."
Sebastian looked into the glistening, haunting eyes of Ian Fleming who drew yet again on his cigarette, staring back. "I will help you," Sebastian smiled.
Smoke drifted out the side of Ians mouth before he smiled back. "Thank you! Tomorrow, we work!" He said as he gradually faded away.
So it came to pass that a book was written from beyond the grave.
THE END
Authors note: After I read Devil May Care I realised that it certainly wasn't Ian Flemings work as Sebastian Faulks style is very literary. In fact I've never read anything quite like it before. It was beautifully written whilst still retaining the tension and excitement of a Bond novel. I definitely recommend it.
© Andrew J Sinclair
