September 1, 2021

I don’t have a lot to say today. Nothing monumental happened, and I didn’t have any poignant breakthroughs. Today, I simply… existed. I listened to Lorde’s new album and old Phoebe Bridgers songs and I found this awful book about rich people being actual felons and I let myself fall into this world of millionaires and crime and affairs and it’s all I was physically capable of doing today. It was nice to live in someone else’s world today. It was nice to pretend I didn’t have to live my life, and that’s what drawn me to literature since I was a kid. When I discovered this alternate world of escapism, it was the only thing I wanted to pursue. How magical is it, to create an entire person, an entire universe? How magical is it, that as adults, we still get to indulge in these make-believe fantasies? I love comfort characters. Whether in books, or movies, or tv shows, I adore them. Meredith Grey, for example, is one of my comfort characters. Just as Lorelai Gilmore is. I’m trying to think of more, but suddenly every character I’ve ever known has vanished from my mind. But you get the point. And I think that’s wonderful – to create someone so powerful that they become like real people for the reader/viewer. And I think that’s magic. That’s what I believe in. More than I believe in making wishes on stars, more than I believe in blowing on eyelashes, and more than I believe in the number 23, I believe in fictional characters and their ability to transcend reality. I know it sounds crazy. But trust me, when you connect with that character you’re meant to, you’ll know what I mean.