On occasion I become so drawn into fictional stories that their reality overreaches that of actuality. I worry about the characters, their emotions, the ups and down of their every day, as if they are family rather than simple inventions of a particularly imaginative writer. Self-made heroes or heroines are my particular weakness, individuals whom by their own hard work and perseverance have raised themselves to the best they can be and carry an ethical beacon that illuminates their actions and every event that they witness.
Real icons are few and far between, genuine valor, outstanding fortitude and moral fiber have become confusingly entwined with theater, rumor, gossip. Hearsay about a present-day Ajax or Helena far outweighs any genuine facts, indeed the stars in the present firmament are decidedly more illusion than heavenly objects.
Literary players expand, develop, have depth, touch mind, heart, and soul, but average Jim and Mary are more often than not bland, unappealing, unremarkable, painfully forgettable.