I don’t know why I’m feeling so sad about Michael Jackson. Okay, so his music has been around for most of my life and I could watch him dance forever. It’s the celebrity thing. I didn’t know him, I hadn’t even seen him in concert. They keep showing clips of him as that gorgeous little boy who forty years later morphed into the androgynous person with the sad, sad face. Such talent, such influence on our popular culture and such a sorry end. I’m mourning him as if I knew the guy – this is crazy!
Then I think of the people I’ve spent so much time with over the last months – the characters in the new novel I’m writing. They are figments of my imagination yet I truly feel I know them and will miss them when I write “The End” and their story is over. (BTW, I’m not at that stage yet. They won’t let me stop. I have a deadline to meet but they keep clamoring at me that they have things to do and reminding me I have word count enough left to let them do those things!) I am creating these characters in the hope that they will be real to my readers. Like celebrities seem so real to their fans.