"Thing is, I've been trying to find a moment to write down what happened to Bennett and me for a while now, but the demands of my audience rarely abate. Soon as I post a fresh installment of "Charles: Final Boy," readers clamor for more. I've hardly time to jot down a grocery list, let alone compose a personal chronicle."
"I feigned ignorance of the concept, though I'd heard it often in my own writing classes long ago. Instead, I told her that, if the installment I was presently crafting flowed from any occasion, it was this: Charles is anxious about the imminent disintegration of the universe via the ever-increasing tug of dark matter. Moreover, he's ticked off that his best buddy, Buddy, doesn't seem perturbed by the prospect."
"When I informed her that he was the titular hero of "Charles in Charge," the most criminally uncelebrated television program of the Reagan era, the woman pursed her lips. "Oh," she said. "You write fan fiction." "We all write fan fiction," I told her. "Some of us are just more honest about it." The young woman gathered up her belongings, moved"
The narrator struggles to record events about Bennett because frequent audience demand for installments consumes his time. Bennett compares him to Dickens and lies near death. In a café the narrator meets a creative-workshop student who asks about the occasion for telling a tale now. The narrator claims the occasion is Charles's anxiety about the universe's eventual disintegration from increasing dark matter and Buddy's indifference. The student calls the work fan fiction; the narrator replies that everyone engages in fan fiction and the student leaves.
Read at The New Yorker
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