Imaginary Friends

You know the way your dead grandmother can pop up in the car with you?  You know just what she’ll say about slowing for the stop sign, and how she’ll cross herself when you pass St. Luke’s.  Her chortly, spontaneous laughter will float right through you. It’s memory, but it’s also alive, fluid. It’s strong because it’s yours alone, in your own mind, especially if you practice bringing your grandmother forward.

If you’re not a writer but you know remembered real people, that’s what characters feel like. My characters feel convincingly full and true to me. They’re not only on the page when I’m copying down the gestures I see or the voices in my ears.  My characters sometimes join me when I’m doing dishes or taking a walk. I’ve never seen Gaia’s or Leon’s face distinctly, but I know what her scar feels like on my cheek and I’ve glimpsed the back of his neck on other teen boys. I would know them if I saw them, like you’d recognize your grandmother if she knocked on your door.

Furthermore, I know my characters inside. I know their memories of when they were kids (picking blueberries), and what they’re like when they’re sick, hurt, or grieving (Q cell). I know how they feel about the mistakes they’ve made and how they’re worried they might do worse. I know their emotions when they’re so angry they can’t give me any dialogue or explain themselves. (That would be Leon on the porch of the winner’s cabin.) Their wondering happiness in an embrace is mine, and so are their discoveries and curiosity.

They’re my imaginary friends.

We tend to associate hearing voices with insanity. A psychologist friend recently said to me that creative, artistic types are more likely than the general population to be on the functional end of the manic-depressive spectrum. Frankly, I find the generalization dangerous, as it implies that artists, especially those with mental illness, succeed only because they have a crazy gift of creativity rather than because they work their butts off.

Recall that writers practice creativity 8-12 hours a day, daily, the way doctors, teachers, athletes, and plumbers practice their craft. You get good at what you do.

I know my peeps.