Writing fiction isn’t easy. It’s a lot more fun than writing self-help books, except for when my imaginary characters stop talking to me. And that’s been going on for quite a while now.
But for some reason, over the weekend they not only began talking to me again but they also demanded my undivided attention. And I have found myself totally immersed in the life of one of my main characters. I have been eating, sleeping and breathing his life.
And it’s a complicated life. He’s struggling with overwhelming challenges and is finally beginning to overcome some of them. I find myself crying and laughing right along with him.
I recall a time when one of my housemates found me in tears and was sure someone had just died. No, I explained to him, I was just totally into my character.
But unless you’re a writer, these emotions are hard to comprehend. I also cry when I watch movies. Or I laugh aloud. At the moment my character is making me do a lot of both.
I’m seriously contemplating buying another laptop sooner than later. Writing on a tablet is becoming a little tedious now that my imaginary friends are back. But I’m glad they’re back. I’ve missed them.