Dear Dr. Eldritch,
    I'm a minor character in a crappy Romance novel, and I'm bored, bored, BORED!

I show up at the beginning of the story and talk to Jenny, the main character, who's a friend from school and now an idealistic law student in London. She's just ended a relationship with a self-centered jerk, and I offer her some comforting words and mention that there's an internship available at an environmental-law firm, not realizing that ANOTHER friend of mine works there (Marcus, who pretends he doesn't come from a wealthy family). Anyway, she gets the internship, they meet, fall in love, fight, break up, and we all show up near the end at his family's estate for their holiday party. They admit they still love each other, I reveal a big secret, they realize they can be together, he proposes, she accepts, everybody's HAPPY!

Which is fine, except this only happens when someone actually reads the book all the way through (let's just say that a LOT more people start the book than finish it). The rest of the time all of us characters just wait around for a reader. Sometimes I hang out with Jenny and Marcus, but they're so into each other, I feel a total third wheel. Morris the butler has a few good stories (but I've heard them ALL, many times). The other minor characters are comatose until we're being read, and even then they're screamingly DULL! They merely chatter about how nicely the plot is moving along or what they're going to do in the next chapter. I know all this! It's like they can't think of anything else outside of their scenes. It makes me want to take an axe to the lot of them, but that would change the genre to Adult Horror, and then NOBODY would talk to me.

I'm written as being a scrappy, adventure-loving gal, but I don't get to DO anything! Is there any way to escape the boredom? Please HELP ME!

-- Lucy Mochrie, of (book title withheld)

Dear Lucy Mochrie,
    It seems that you have, through no fault of your own, become intelligent. It's tragic and debilitating, but typically can be rectified by watching television.

Don't worry, I'm just kidding! You're fine. But you are more intellectually aware than those around you, which is rarely a comfortable condition. Most literary characters are like the others in your novel; either unable to comprehend anything outside the realm of their story, or lacking all interest in doing so. You, on the other hand, are more aware than your role requires, which is the cause of your distress.

I believe all you need is a Literary Device, and I've got a number of them lying about (they're wonderfully inexpensive at tag sales). Let's try an Epilogue. Allow me:

Morris hummed in a tuneless but cheerful manner as he carried Lucy's breakfast tray down the long hallway. Last night's holiday party had been exceptionally entertaining, capped off by the jubilant announcement of the engagement of young master Marcus and the delightful Miss Jenny. Such was his mood that when he saw the door open before he arrived at it, his morning greeting had a cheeriness completely unlike his typically somber tone.

"Good morning, Miss... Mochrie?" he finished, standing stock still before the figure that emerged from her room.

Lucy Mochrie, for it was indeed she, wore a leather wide-brimmed hat and a matching brown duster, and tall, sturdy boots. The stock of a holstered rifle poked over one shoulder, with the pommel of a short sword behind the other. As she grinned and lifted the glass of orange juice from the tray, he glimpsed matching revolvers at her hips, with a neat row of bullets along the belt. But it was not her thirsty downing of the juice that caused his jaw to drop; it was the large steamer trunk that followed her from the room like a loyal hound, propelled on dozens of small, bare feet. It had no eyes, but Morris had the distinct impression that it was looking back at him.

"Morning, Morris!" Lucy said cheerfully. "Sorry, no time for breakfast. I'll be leaving, for a while." She pulled a sleeve back, revealing a sleek metallic bracer that covered most of her forearm, equipped with a miniature keyboard. She tapped a button and a tiny screen lit up. Morris watched with fascination.

"Pardon, Miss, but might I inquire what that is?" he asked as she keyed rapidly.

"A Literary Relocator," she said. "It allows me to travel into any work of fiction in its catalog, millions of them. I can specify the chapter, page, verse and line, if I choose. Voice activated, too, if things get dangerous." Lucy finished typing and her finger hovered over a glowing-green button.

"Don't worry, I'll be back in time," she said.

"But... But where are you going?" Morris stammered, bemused.

Grinning, Lucy merely winked and tapped the button. She and the trunk vanished, off to another fantastic literary adventure.

Good luck, and let me know how it comes out!

-- Dr. Eldritch