I love my central character, Jimmy Moran. We have a lot in common. Both raised Irish-Catholic, both lawyers, both part Cent – wait, that’s TMI.
We’ve shared a lot of life experiences. Know all of the same people. Kissed all the same women. Even share the same best friend, Claire the Mule.
But I’m not Jimmy.
“Oh, c’mon Tommy, no one believes that!”
“Get back in my imagination you prick. You’re gonna get me into trouble.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t come crying to me when the elves refuse to type the next book.”
“Will you shuddup already. I told you, you can’t be popping in and out like that.”
“Forget about it, I gotta go anyway. Claire’s calling. The pixies are back. Time to play. I’ll leave you to your legal work.”
Okay, now where was I? That’s right.
It’s very easy to get lost in the head of your characters. And that can make real life very confusing.
And that’s okay for me, because I have very little human contact on a daily basis, and my fur family and the rest of the inhabitants do not care if I act a little strange around Casa Claire.
Lisa’s gotten used to it.
And Claire is a Costanza vault. She’ll never give me up.
But a writer never wants their readers to believe that you are one of your fictional characters because then they may start asking the wrong questions. And that could get tricky.
“Hey, I’m back. What did I miss?”
“Oh forget it. I give up. Here you take over. I have to cuddle Smokey, do my rounds and then hit the dreadmill.”
“Really?! You sure?“
“Yeah, fuck it. It’s Friday. You can’t do any worse than me.”
Sweet!. . . . Okay, where did he leave off? Give me a sec to catch up. . . . yada, yada, yada. . . Got it.
Not Jimmy Moran. No, he’s right. He’s not me.
For starters, I’m much better looking. I look years younger. You can see the difference in the photos.
I’ve stepped up and handled all of those trickier situations along the way, while he’s played it safe.
I’ve even taken a bullet for him.
Says it gives him plausible deniability.
And wait, did he say we’ve kissed all the same women?
We’ll leave that for history to decide.
But honestly, I could see where the readers could get confused.
You’ll never find us in the same room together.
And he’s a little quicker with the bullshit. Gotten both of us out of a lot of trouble.
To tell you the truth, he makes this writing thing look a lot easier than it is.
“Hey Claire, how does he wrap these blogs up?”
“He usually tells his five, fine readers that he’s got shit to do.”
“Really, he’s only got five readers?“
“Well, that’s based on my theorem. Only five readers on any given day. As soon as one get’s bored, and they all do, a new one replaces them. But yeah, no more than five.”
“Five it is then. So, that’s it? We’re done here?“
“Almost, and then he hits that Publish button in the upper right corner.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Hold on, did you mention your book?”
“Is it really necessary?”
“If you think The Claire Trilogy is going to carry your ass any farther, you have another think coming.”
“Come on, you know you’re going to carry me to the end.”
“All right, I’ll get it for you. But this is the last favor. God, you’re more helpless than he is.”
“Nice. Hey, do you want to know who those eyes on the cover belong to?”
“Jimmy, I was there, remember?”
“That’s right. Gotta admit, this can get a little confusing.”
“Listen, I have to get back out there with Honey. Let’s finish up.”
“All right, all right, I got this.”
“Wait, wait, wait! One more thing. . . . Typing with hooves sucks. There, I got it. ”
You fine, five readers, make today a great one.
“Okay, hit the Publish button.”
“Gotcha.”
