Do you ever notice how a clear winter day is deceptive? The sun seems so bright and vibrant. Surely it is bathing the world in warmth. And it can even feel that way on the inside, sitting by a window, as I am now, with the sun raining down upon me. It is intoxicating, and yet it lies. One step outside will prove that. Some of the coldest days in winter are the ones where the sun shines brightest. There is no buffer, no cloud cover to hold warmth in.
It is foolishness to be taken in. There are certainly warning signs. Maybe I should remind myself it is almost December, or maybe the unmelted snow should be my first clue. Do not be drawn outside, resist, resist!
Literary characters can be the same way. You are drawn in by their charm, their professed experience or knowledge. You are enticed by flattery. But is it real? Can they be trusted? Once you step inside their circle will you be met by a cold shoulder or worse, experience their icy heart?
Maybe I'm too much of a dreamer or an optimist, but I believe, that in reality, there are few people who are actually like this. Not many trouble themselves to act one part while being another. There are some, but I believe they are few. BUT . . . do we really want our novels peopled with "real" people? Believable, yes; but boring, work-a-day people? Not likely.
So, my best hope in my next novel is to draw you in, make my characters believable, lovable even, and then . . . (I guess you'll just have to read the book when it comes out, won't you?)
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