This is a continuation of the saga of Charles P. Wiggins the Third.  If you missed the first chapter, you can read it here.

When we last left off with Charles P. Wiggins the Third, the writer [not to be confused with that other Charles P. Wiggins the Third from Beverly Hills whose passion lied in locks and keys {the two Charleses were constantly being misidentified at hospitals and with the IRS—quite a nuisance, really}], he was faced with a torturous choice to make: Eat, or be eaten.  That is to say, he could either write the morose mourning that the world desired and be paid plentifully for selling out to The Man, or he could write the cheerful desires of his lightweight heart, which wouldn’t sell a single copy because nobody wanted to be cheerful right then, and therefore, Charles P. Wiggins the Third would starve to death.

It really was an impossible decision.

I mean, you can see the impossibility of it, can’t you?

Writers are constantly at odds with The Man and his worldly cohorts.  Poor Charles P. Wiggins the Third—fighting his demons without a soul on his side…

So he did the only thing he ever does when faced with a horrible decision: He procrastinated.

He dreamed of happier times, like the summer he went to Disneyland™ and hung out with his old pal, Mickey.  Charles P. Wiggins the Third loved everything about Disneyland—the games, the rides, the atmosphere, and especially the corn dogs.  (Because that’s what he’s holding—a corn dog.  Not a phallic symbol, you annoying English majors.  Not every piece of literature has to have perverted undertones of sex.  Sometimes a corn dog is JUST a corn dog!)

When he had ridden Splash Mountain in every available hollow log, his daydream was over.  But he still didn’t know what to do.  Disneyland™ is fun, but it doesn’t solve life’s problems.  So he sat down to read some blogs and get some inspiration:

Charles P. Wiggins the Third always reads Archives of Our Lives™ before any other blog.  It’s his favourite.

But as it turned out, there was nothing inspiring to read on the internet—not even all the forwarded emails from his Granny served to distract him from his woes.  Sorry, Granny.

So he decided to cut his hair.

Which he did, but he has only the one, so that didn’t take long.

When he was done with that chore, he put his hat back on and decided to memorise every sonata ever written by Beethoven.  And Bach.  And Mozart, too, just for good measure.  Charles P. Wiggins made beautiful music.

But he still didn’t know what to do.

Finally, after having recently been inspired after seeing Julie and Julia on the big screen, Charles decided that maybe he just needed to go to cooking school and his life would sort itself out.

So he did, but of course it didn’t.  He did gain some weight, though, as evidenced by the extra-bold lines of his stick-figure body.  That didn’t help him solve his problem—it just made him depressed.

Finally, Charles P. Wiggins the Third realised he could not put off his decision any longer.  He just had to choose, one way or the other.

He just didn’t know what to do.

***Click here for the next installment, to see if perhaps Charles P. Wiggins the Third ever makes up his mind between serving The Man, or serving his soul.***

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