Relationships

A day or two ago I mentioned the loneliness of writing a novel. Here’s an example. I have a special relationship with this guy whom I created. I know almost everything about him, and he’s in my head constantly, but I can’t talk about him to most people. I think about him all day every day, go to bed at night thinking about him, wake up in the morning thinking about him, and it’s the same with all the other characters.

They become very real in my mind. I have conversations with them. Sometimes I wait to see what they’ll do, how they’ll react. Other times I know in advance what they’ll do. I know how they think most of the time, but not always. Sometimes they surprise me.

A couple of days ago I was writing a tense scene involving the main character, and quite to my surprise he lost his temper and said something very rude to a polite person. I was shocked and tried to make him apologize. 

As it happened, one of my readers objected to the apology, and instantly it felt as if the character himself were objecting: “It was a foolish mistake, but I will not apologize. I was fed up, and it felt good to say so.”
I like to think that if the reader had not spoken on his behalf, the character would have complained to me directly, shaken me by the lapels if I had them, and said, “Frank, don’t make me apologize!” And I would have had to listen.