I have been in a small mountain town in Eastern Washington this past week. Each evening I sit on a park bench on the main street with an ice cream cone as the sun sets over the ridge. Families stroll with children. Conversations float in the air, and I think about characters in stories.
Much of today’s entertainment lacks the imagination and mystery of a well-developed character. The world of the reality show du jour is flat and tasteless compared to a character in conflict.
I am a man for other dances as Jaques would say in Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Fiction is for me, and I am for fiction. I love characters sprung forth from an author’s mind. The kind whose hearts long for a better and different world. A story built with theme and structure.
Main Street is a study of the heart. I neither seek nor want to know the details of those walking by. I walk the same road as they do. I have an inkling of their feelings and worries. Because we share the same road, we have much in common. The characters in my stories reflect those who walk by each evening, all of them filled with God’s providence.
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