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I was on the road and alone in my hotel room and I couldn’t put myself in the mood to write. A good description would be suffering a slight case of melancholy. I decided to call my wife since she’s a good listener. When she answered the phone she could tell something was wrong. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

I replied, “Cassie’s mom is dead.”

Her voice became distressed, “What happened? Who’s Cassie?”

She thought Cassie was someone I worked with.  I prompted her further, “Cassie, the character in my book. Alec’s girlfriend. Don’t  you remember me talking about her?”

I wasn’t expecting the next response, “You need to see a counselor.”

I wasn’t fazed and continued trying to convince her that Cassie’s mom dying was indeed sad; especially the way she died. Again, her unexpected response, “You have issues. I can’t believe one of the characters in your book has put you in this funk.”

My efforts to have my wife console me over the death of Cassie’s mom were for naught. I feel bad about her dying, but it happened. I can’t change the course of events as they play out in people’s lives; even fictional people.