Tall Dark Strangers

Once upon a time.... nevermind. Let me just tell it straight. I was looking for something on my computer this evening and I ran across something I haven't seen in a long time, in fact, had forgot all about. It is about a man who popped into my life several years ago. He was a bit of a nuisance but he hung around and I guess he grew on me. I've not seen him in a while but he must still be here because this fell into my lap, so to speak, reminding me of his presence.

This was written as an "assignment" from a book I got somewhere. The instructions were to write about myself from my character's point of view. Well, I did and this is what he has to say. 

Me According to Simon

Bollocks! She didn't invent me. I told her all about myself and she wrote it down. She can be a bit difficult, our Dixie. Kept telling me to shut up and let her sleep. I spoon fed her the entire story and she's whining about a little sleep.

Am I supposed to tell you who I am? Simon. There is some mystery about my last name. She's keeping it a secret for the moment, probably because I've managed to keep it from her. I work for an agency specializing in … well, we collect information. You'd say spy. We say brokers. I attended university in England. Lovely English mum and GI father.

I came about when she was doing NaNoWriMo. I was a walk-on character in a forum. Don't think anything was supposed to come of it but I liked it and hung around. Played with some other characters a bit but then she got involved in my business. I have a unique talent and she became rather fascinated by it. She's insatiably curious, you know. I read minds, in a manner of speaking. When you are asleep, I can enter your dreams and obtain information. She quite liked that.

Now, all about Dixie. I doubt you have that much time. She's a widow and the grandmother of a precocious little girl. I quite like Sarah. Very direct child with a sunny nature. Dixie's a lot more childish with her and I suspect that's who she really is at heart. She'd be perfectly content to sit in the sandbox and build sand castles. Of course, she'd invent all the people and have them doing outlandish things. Complains when I feed her a story but can sit in the sun and spin a dozen yarns for a six-year-old. Bloody nuisance.

What else.... ah. Dixie was married 35 years and her husband died in the 2009 ice storm of a massive heart attack. Happened in the middle of the night. She did CPR. Difficult. Still, I showed up just after that, about six moths later. I think talking to me helped keep her mind off darker things. I found it amusing that she likes dark haired men with blue eyes. And perhaps a bit sad.

Dixie probably worries too much about her writing. She's capable but I don't know where she's going. She's bloody annoying at times. She knows she should get up and write and the blasted fibro simply wipes her out. Other times she's fine and she still doesn't write. She blogs constantly. Leaves me twiddling my thumbs far too much. She's got the blasted story nearly finished. Get on with it.

Honestly, after I read it I laughed out loud. I'd forgotten how charming he is.