I broke a promise to myself this week. It was not written down, it was more of one of those mental promises. Lacking accountability. Since I was the only one who even knew about it, I tricked myself. I did a little negotiating, some bargaining and the next thing I knew, I was a promise breaker. Oh, the guilt. The disappointment. It wasn’t anything über exciting or dangerous. The promise I broke was that I started reading a new book. I’m currently reading five different books, all different genres. I promised myself that I could not, would not, should not start a new book until I had finished at least two of the five I was currently reading. I don’t want to an irresponsible book reader. Leaving books unfinished, feeling unimportant. The problem is that I never know what kind of mood I will be in when I get the chance to do a little reading. Or a lot. In my defense, I didn’t have a novel in my line-up. I felt that it was just unfair to deny that “fictiony” side of myself. Why would I not think of that? Pure justification, no remorse.

I should  mention the weather has been absolutely beautiful, sunny and incredibly spring-like this week. Everything is the happiest green color. My kids love playing outside for hours in this season. And it’s just best to take a novel to the park, in my opinion. We went to a lot of parks this week. I just couldn’t put down my new-ish book. I began falling in love with the story, the setting, the characters, and just turning the pages of that promise-breaking novel. My boys played so well together, for the most part, and didn’t even ask me to be the “Dog Monster” aka chasing them around crazily. All of these conditions resulted in me finishing this “new” book. In a few days. I stayed up into the late hours reading, hoping, and wondering how the story would end, but now I am a little sad. Actually, a lot sad. I already miss the characters in this book. I didn’t really get to formally say goodbye to them. The book just ended. It seems wrong.

I started thinking how fulfilling it would be if authors of fiction novels could find the real-life people who best represented the fictional characters in their book. Then, when you finished reading the book, you would be cordially invited to a party to meet, talk with and say goodbye to your short-lived novel friends. I just loved Lou and Will, characters in the book I just read. And I want to meet them. Honestly, I think Lou and I would be good friends. I would be up for meeting in Paris. Though, I’ve still got to get my passport. Until then, a Starbucks in Kansas will do. Or maybe Parisi would be better. These novel friends would be welcome to come hang out on my back porch. I could make them a margarita or two. I would probably cry and give them a long, awkward hug when they had to leave, but it would be a lot better than just closing the book. Knowing how the story ends sometimes just doesn’t offer much comfort. I’m not much of a re-reader type of person. I will most likely give this book away to someone who will take good care of it. Someone who will love it. The (fictional)people in it really mean a lot to me even though we just met a few days ago. Goodbye, Lou and Will. And all the rest of the likable characters too. Sarah Mclachlan, I need you. Or just your song…..”I will remember you.” Na. Na. Na. Na. Na. Na. “Will you remember me?” Probably not, seeing as you’re fictional characters. Goodbye Lou and Will. Maybe I should just start another book. Or finish one of the ones I started.