Writing fiction is like playing with imaginary friends. You invent a bunch of personalities and then set them on a path of action and adventure. None of it is real, yet they live and breathe, first in the author’s heart and mind – and later (if he or she has done the job well) in the reader’s.
The characters we create become almost as vivid as friends and family in the real world. I have to confess to falling hard for one male protagonist I once wrote about… probably the less said about that the better!
The reason I mention this is because I have just begun the sequel to my first (and only) novel, Beginner’s Guide to Burb-Watching. It feels right and good – like coming home on a Friday night after a long, tough week at the office.
The characters I created some eighteen months ago now feel like old friends – and in this volume, they’ll be joined by a host of new ones. In my new book, I want to do my characters justice, bringing them to life on the page once more. So I’ll start them off, guiding them firmly at first, before giving them a little freedom to roam independently. For me personally, it is always a magic moment when they begin to breathe on their own.