My Friend

One of my favourite authors had a book out today. I got it, opened it, read the first few lines, and sighed happily. This character was still my friend.

There are some characters I hate and some I love and some I’m intrigued by and some I’m excited by and some I loathe and some scare me but there are a few characters who are my friends.

They are often the ones telling the story. They remind me of me, perhaps. They are flawed and brilliant and so very human and when I read them, I feel they are sitting opposite me, telling me the story. I feel happy and relaxed in their company, and I know they shan’t let me down. March Middleton is one, Jane Eyre another, Mole in Wind of the Willows another.

I don’t know if it’s possible to deliberately write a character like that. I don’t known if it’s even a good idea to try. What makes me like the company of these characters may be what makes someone else hate them. But to me, they are very real, and they are good company

The House at Baker Street by Michelle Birkby

The Women Of Baker Street

Sent from my iPad


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