Meeting your fictional characters

Remember that yoga workshop I told you about?

Something else remarkable happened that day but I only realized it yesterday. There was someone in the room whose face and way of speaking kept drawing my attention. I can't even say that it was sexual - there was just something very familiar about this man's face.

I was riding the metro yesterday when I realized.

This man is close to what I imagine Cedric to be, both physically and emotionally. Who's Cedric? A character in the novel I'm working on, of course.

The relationship between writer and fictional character is very intimate. You have created this person with feelings, motives and ambitions, someone with a history and a future. Although you understand that this character is fictional, you know this person in a profound way that cannot often be replicated in real human relationships.

I often have to remind myself that Reggie did not exist, that Cedric is not real. If I am walking in the old financial district, I have to curb my brain from blurting out, "Mr. Campbell probably worked in this building."

So, understandably, meeting an actual person who fully embodies your image of a fictional character causes a very real ripple in your emotional day. On the one hand, it's exhilarating to "meet" your fictional character. On the other hand, it could interfere with your ability to go back and write him with authenticity. I don't want to have this person in my head when I'm writing Cedric, because I don't want to inadvertently start writing this other person. I want to keep Cedric true to Cedric.

Let me end with this, some words from a letter written by Jane Austen to her sister Cassandra in 1813:

"Henry and I went to the exhibition in Spring Gardens. It is not thought a good collection, but I was very well pleased, particularly (pray tell Fanny) with a small portrait of Mrs. Bingley, excessively like her.I went in hopes of seeing one of her sister, but there was no Mrs. Darcy. Perhaps, however, I may find her in the great exhibition, which we shall go to if we have time . . . Mrs. Bingley's is exactly herself -- size, shaped face, features, and sweetness; there never was a greater likeness. She is dressed in a white gown, with green ornaments, which convinces me of what I had always supposed, that green was a favourite colour with her. I dare say Mrs. D. will be in yellow."

The portrait Austen refers to (left) is actually of a Mrs. Quentin, painted by Huet Villiers, but any Austenian will tell you - she's the spitting image of Jane Bingley.