That Time I Made a Promise to an Imaginary Friend in My Living Room Because That's What I Do

You have to be at least a little crazy if you want to be a writer. That's the only way you'll listen when your characters show up to talk to you.

And they will show up to talk to you. If you spend enough time in their world, I guarantee you it will happen. Thanks to a novel I've been working on for more than half my life, I have friends in my head who I've known longer than most of my friends in real life. They're real to me; we visit often.

Enough, at least, that I can make Lego versions of them.

Even though I usually extend the invitation first, every now and then my characters drop in unannounced. It usually happens when I'm showering or trying to go to sleep, but a recent encounter happened in my living room with the Enchanted soundtrack playing.

"Hey, I like this song," the character said.

"Oh, hi Philo," I said. "I didn't see you come in. Yeah, isn't the piano part great?"

"It's something I would play. Just, uh, so you know." (In my novel, Philo works with other entertainers as a piano accompanist, but he really wants to be recognized as a great pianist on his own.)

"Consider it done. I know just when to have you play it, too."

Philo doesn't like to show how much he appreciates when people do nice things for him, but the light in his eyes betrays him. "Thanks," he says. But then he looks down and shifts from one foot to the other.

"Philo, what's up?"

Philo hesitates. "I've been thinking," he says.

"A dangerous pastime," I answer. Philo doesn't crack a smile. He and I don't share a sense of humor. "Sorry. Go on."

"Well . . . I don't think it's fair what happens to me."

"Drama, Philo. We're going for an emotional reaction."

"I get that. But why does everyone in the book end up happy except me?"

I blink. "Did I . . . tell you about the others? I'm not sure 'happy' is the word I'd use."

"No, Philo has a point," Em says. I have no idea when she got here. "You pretty much destroy him."

"But he lives."

"Only because he's your favorite. Yeah, we all know. You put more of yourself into him than you put into Roy." (For those of you keeping score at home, Roy's kind of a big deal. He and Em are the novel's POV characters.)

I restart the music at the part Philo likes. "So what do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Give me a happy ending," Philo says. "Please."

I think about the things I make him go through in the story. His life does take a rather tragic turn . . . but what can I do about it? "Do you have anything in mind?" I ask.

Philo closes his eyes and soaks in the music. "What if [spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler]?"

This is Philo in his element.

I fold my arms. "Hmm. . . ."

"I think it's a good idea," Em says. "And the others are on board."

"All of them?"

"Well, you-know-who had to roll her stupid dice. But everyone who could think for themselves agreed."

I turn to Philo and lean in, as if I can make him think harder about what he's asked me to do. "Your life will still be difficult," I say.

"I know."

"I'm not going to change what happens to you."

"I . . . I know."

"And you'll have to keep your guard up. You know how I like things bittersweet at the end."

". . . Yes."

"But let's try this out. I like it."

Philo raises his head. I can trace the path tears have made on his cheeks. "You mean it?" he asks.

"I mean it."

In a rare display of unbridled joy, Philo hugs Em and shakes my hand. "Oh, thank you!" he says. "Thank you."

And so, here I am, working extra frantically to finish my novel. Because I have promises to my characters to keep.

Promises to friends who don't exist.

Am I insane? Perhaps a little.

But it comes with the job.