Who is this Charlie, you might wonder.
Charlie is fiction. I'm his creator. When I write in my journal - or here at the blog - I imagine Charlie as the reciever.
Charlie is an old man. His hair is white and his face is full of wrinkles that becomes more clear when he smiles. Charlie is a collector. He collects tiny treasures. Things that tells a story. That reminds him of events in his long life. He used to travel a lot. Has been to the oddest places. But now he prefers to live in undisturbed tranquillity.
He smells of cigars. He listens to jazz and plays the trompets. He used to draw a lot, when he was younger. Now he enjoys reading.
I imagine that he sits on his porch, when he reads my writings.At least in the summer. He sits in a white rocking chair with the coffee next to him on a small table with a crochet tablecloth. His garden is full of roses and lilies. He's got a dog named Oscar.
Durring wintertimes he sits in the livingroom in his armchair. All around him books are piled up. And on the wall hangs photos from his long life. Of places he has seen, people he has loved, things he has done.
Charlie is my invention. But I see him very clearly. He makes writing so much more fun.