I prefer fictional people to real ones. That’s the sort of person I am. No offense to any of my friends reading this. Fictional people are amazing. No matter how flawed they are, I would rather spend time with them than anyone else. And that means that I tend to get emotionally attached to them. Particularly ones that I actually invent. They’re fully developed, amazing, very real people in my head before I’ve even put them down on paper. Sometimes they get a little lost in the process of me putting them down on paper. But that doesn’t matter too much to me. If I can’t show people how amazing these imaginary people are, whatever. At least I know.
Sometimes, I wonder how writers kill off their characters and make it seem like it was the easiest thing to do while leaving millions of readers devastated. I know I would have to kill one eventually if I keep writing. But I’d have to make that death count. Like really count. I will never let any of my good characters die in vain. I swear.
You know how fictional characters have the most amazing lives? They’re full of drama or adventure or near-death experiences or other things that are as far from normal as one end of the universe is from the other. My exaggeration is a little over the top, but you get the point. I can’t help being jealous of them because my life is seriously mundane. It’s as mundane as anything could get and it’s boring. If being bored was a talent, I’d be the most talented person in the multiverse. The point is, the word “Boring” defines my life.
So rambling about how awesome fictional people are is my average interesting day. Stuff doesn’t get more exciting this. Rarely, if ever. I forgot why I started writing this in the first place, but I’ll tell you something. This post perfectly sums up why I spend so much time reading and writing. I’d rather live in an imaginary world all the time than in the real one. Reading and writing help me do that. Besides, the real world is a terrible, terrible place.