As the cliche goes, you can never know everything about a person even if you live with them for a lifetime. Just touching the soft fabric of a veil on their body to lift it to examine the pores of their skin, sometimes causes the Geminio curse to activate, doubling each veil instantly like you were perpetually trapped in a Gringotts locker all your life, till you become cautious enough to keep your curiosity to yourself and hands behind your back, letting each veil lift itself slightly in the breeze hoping to get a tiny glimpse of the person beneath the veils as years go by. Years go by, glimpses upon glimpses pile up and you feel brash enough to draw a picture which might bear scant resemblance to reality but what the fuck that’s what art is all about. When you’d write, you’d write only those things which you notice, through your own eye – so one man’s portrait may be another man’s landscape – all details fuzzy and wrong like those gestalt drawings where it actually is a duck when you see a rabbit but the duck leaps out and says write write write before it takes the form of cliches and nonsense and sours in your brain. So the better way to write is an answer to the question – what would be a fictional character who would play the heroine in your unwritten novel like? What would she have? What does she have to hold the attention of a reader for a thousand pages generation after generation?
…who’d have will and wit and probably too much empathy for others all the time. Stand-up comics have their ‘pieces’. Lines rehearsed and prepared and practiced as if they are impromptu, with a punchline that has to work to bring out a guffaw, but wit isnt so complicated and one-dimensional. Keeping your wit when everyone is losing theirs and springing out one-liners unexpectedly and on demand is the use of a single word in diametrically opposite character situations, and it isn’t easy to incorporate the entire word in one person, and yet…
…she’d never suffer fools, gladly or otherwise. However, if you weren’t one but pretending to be one, she’d play along gladly with a grin as if she’s never heard of Nash and his game theory and finite and infinite games. Get into an infinite game of back and forth with her and your life will be enriched beyond comprehension or belief. Knowing when to pretend is one of the great strengths of a few people in the modern age. Pretense lets one be a fool and tread gently where honesty and wisdom would cause you to wade deep in a bog and sink eventually, a display of unnecessary bravery instead of prudence.
…however, you’d have to be really brave to get to know her. A better alternative would be to get on the dance floor and raise your toes and ask for her hand to swirl it around, but you’d have to be a man who knows what he is doing and know how not to overstay your welcome, and leave at the right moment.
…who at any moment, who’d be vastly knowledgeable about people, about books, about the mind’s emotions, and about the heart’s one emotion, and forgiving about them. Occasionally she would shut herself in a black box of unanswered questions, and then you’d just have to wait for the page to turn on its own or hope that the veil and the black dress she’s wearing turns translucent again while you are still alive. Never ask for a transparent one, that’s not on the menu and never was but you were never paying attention.
…whose one prized asset is attention. Attention with feeling, and yet feeling never overpowers attention the way it does with you. To look deeply, and yet to not be consumed, to find things worth looking in unexpected places, and yet not stay there for long.
…and yet, who never failed to command it without ever asking for it. Parts are often greater than the whole in a person, and yet in your book, the person needs to be someone you cannot look away from, your only saving grace being she’d never lock eyes with you and strip you naked in that one moment which will define you for ever and ever. Look from top to bottom, from neck to collarbone to tips of fingers and toes, in your mind’s eye and be captivated without ever confessing it. That’s your silent joy, hold it tight and never let it go.
…who has to fill an entire novel, so how can it be summed up in one page?