The fictional characters I’ve invented over the years, particularly ones in “the book,” are like strange shadows that I see in a moment of near hallucination from alcohol or lack of sleep. Then in more manic moments, after too much coffee, I start to think I understand something about them. I have visions of them when I shower or when I am drifting off to sleep. They are more than complex puppets, although they are that also.

Perhaps one goal of the story is to combine these ephemera in such a way as to create the illusion of some kind of whole.


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