The line extended as far as the eye could see, each of us hoping that today we would be among the lucky ones chosen to be part of some writer’s story.
I’ve led many lives; a pregnant teenager, the father of a murdered son – that was a tough one – a prison inmate, even a horse near death from neglect, so I’m hoping for a bit of romance this next time.
You’d think with so many writers in the world that there would be a shortage of characters, but the truth is we are in infinite supply, our variation limited only by the dreams and discipline of those who would seek us out.
They do so like to believe they’ve created us. Little do they know we’ve been here all the time – just waiting.