Five

 

. . . Just relax. Nothing to do now. Nothing to worry about. Nothing even to think about. For these next few minutes, just be free, as free and relaxed as you know you can be. As I count down from five to one, you may notice a feeling of deepening relaxation with each number, and with every word I say. And at the count of

So, answering your own questions.  How does it feel?

Spooky, and yet, oddly familiar.  What else, I suppose, does a novelist do all day?  Separates into characters, voices, sets them talking.

 

It reminds me of Fred’s twin George, who despite his cancer-induced coma, still haunts Fred, talks to him, at first in his imagination, and then it seems . . . in other ways.

The interesting thing about voices in one’s head—which of them is truly yours?