I grieve for characters in books that I've finished reading, more specifically, the characters in a long series of books. It's totally dumb. I know they're still in there. I know that I can re-read about them, but I just miss them so much!
When I finished all the hobbit books, I mourned the Fellowship. When Harry Potter finally disposed of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I felt alone. When I finished the Dark Tower saga, I wept for Roland and his ka-tet, and--most surprisingly--at the end of the Twilight series, I lamented the loss of my new vampire friends.
I told you this would be dumb.
And yet I am compelled to keep typing.
I think it stems from being enveloped by a well-defined other world and its people (again, big surprise about Meyers' Twilight series), every night before bed. It becomes ritual. Something I look forward to throughout the day. And when I start to care about the characters, I begin to speed-read. As if regular reading can't get me the story fast enough to satiate my literary thirst. Then, one night, I turn the last page, and am inevitably faced with a moment of confusion and shock. "What do I do now?" I think as I stare off into the corner of the room, remembering all the best parts at once.
There's nothing like a good story.
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