Proprietary

I had a bizarre moment this morning. I was reading a scene written by a friend of mine, about a character of his that I am familiar with, and I found myself shocked into crying.

Wait- that may not be the best way to phrase that. It makes it sound like there was some big reveal that shocked me- but really it was more like I had this blinding flash of understanding what I was reading, of true empathy and a split-second of prescience about what was about to happen, and it was so visceral that I cried. And then it did happen, and... I cried harder.

In retrospect I am just in awe of this moment. That I have put so much emotional investment into this fictional character that my friend can play me like a friggin' harpsichord is a little ludicrous. Or maybe not. I mean, if you put start to think about all the hours I've spent reading about this character, talking about him, thinking about him, and drawing him (because that's what I do with other people's characters) over the past four years, I guess there is part of me that feels he's my character, too. You know what I'm talking about- you have a favorite show, or book, and you love the people in it- you know them. You know them so well you know what they will do in any given situation, how they will react. They become as much yours as they are their creator's. And that's just weird, isn't it?

Isn't it?

But it's even more weird when you know the creator. When you recognize which parts of his psyche make up which parts of the character. And you have to wonder if your love of the character might not be, in some sense, an extension of your love for him or her.

I think that's possible- in fact I think it's even probable, in this instance. But I also believe that this scene would have ripped my guts out even if I hadn't known the author longer than I've known the character. And the thing is, I hope that I, too, can characters like that. Characters that people care about so much they feel like they own part of them. Characters that cause them to grieve when they grieve, or laugh when they laugh. Or even text me at 0630 to call me a bastard for making them cry at work.