Lately, Jane and Esther have been hinting that they have friends who are hiding in the corners of my mind. There's Violet Stevenson who is addicted to the writings of Charles Dickens. Right now she's in the midst of reading Martin Chuzzlewit. Violet's obession with this novel is spilling over into her relationship with Ariella, her grand-daughter. This young woman is the recipient of advice from the characters in Dickens' novel which Violet suggests will improve Ariella's life. Just imagine if Ariella listened to the ever cheerful, Mark Tapley and learned to be jolly in the midst of her trails, she might be able to endure the pau de deux that she's dancing with the overly handy, Edward without resorting to crushing his foot with her pointe shoe.
Along with Violet there's an older man who is unkownn to Violet, but who has found his way into the unwritten pages of my next book. Vashi doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's profound. He has this way of looking at you that induces serious intorspection which influences your life and your perceptions. Did I mention that Vashi is addicted to chocolate cheesecake, although on occassion he has been known to accept plain cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce?
I love characters. I love real people. It's a special fascination of mine to watch the masses of humanity wherever I go. I find airports particularly satisfying. Instead of reading while I wait for my flight, I observe mankind. Each person has a story. I watch how the mother entertains her child, how the businessman's phone is perpetually glued to his ear, how the couple on vacation lounges in shorts and sunglasses giving each other radiant smiles. It goes on and on as I indulge in the never ending panorama of life.
My schizophrenia is flaring up again and demanding attention. It's time for me to write. Never Again your sibling is about to be born.
