While writing one’s self into a storyline that appears autobiographical, one loses oneself temporarily, but that is the whole point, is it not?

We characters are characters with characteristics characterising charisma, charm, charbroiled personalities and carbon copies of people we meet.

A “Jenn” inspires a “Guin” who travels between planets.

An “Abi” inspires a “Bai” who influences the emotional states and body movements of those around her.

I, as the character Lee, have the joy and freedom to fall in love with Guin and Bai without interference, unless the storyline calls for such.

I could just as easily fall in love with their storied lines, their lives, their livelihoods and joie de vivre.

Separating self from character is not always easy.

In fact, I have lost track in the past but the characters lived on and so did the people who inspired their existence.

To be here, one assumes I have lived on, too.

Have I?

Je ne sais pas.  Parfois, je ne me connais pas.

To know is to understand.  Semper paratus, as they say, to tell a good story.

Take the date, the 10th of August 1998.  Why should I remember that day, a Monday?

Perhaps I do not remember it correctly.

Would a Monday be any different than a Tuesday or a Saturday?

What if, on that day, you first learned the language of dance?  What then?

Ah, but you see, to understand, to know, to feel in the synchronised vibrations of your core being the language of dance is an epiphany some equate with the Christian sense of being born again.

When you dance as if your whole body is one with the universe, it is a meditation upon or prayer to everything.

You cannot separate yourself from yourself, the person around you, the room, the music, or the planet in semi-elliptical orbit around the nearest star and the solar system in orbit around the Milky Way galaxy.

Writing about the sensation of dancing is like a badly-written translation of a masterpiece, converting a symphony into a bicycle — each has its perfection but never will the two appear the same.

Do you live for the dance?  Is every penny you earn outside of paying for living expenses directed toward dancing?

If so, then you know.

It’s like my favourite bluegrass musician, Claire Lynch.  I love her music but it’s just not the same sitting in a chair in a concert hall listening to her and her band perform.  I’d much rather lose myself gyrating on the dance floor while she and her friends are going off on musical tangents with her famous tunes as guidance.  Or I can write about it and get an equivalent feeling in the moment.

In all walks of life, we know this feeling:

• Stock traders who have a feel for when a stock price is just right to trade at maximum value, followed by another and another for hours and days on end.
• Teachers who have mesmerised their students to follow their lead, absorbing new material with a burning desire to learn.
• Players in every sport.

To capture this sensation, some use stimulants while others know or learn how to let themselves live timelessly in the moment.

For me, switching between mental word play and dancing with a new partner is amazingly effortless when I decide not to carefully measure my steps as if I’m looking up dance moves in a guidebook.

With Jenn/Guin, it was easy to translate how I felt about dancing with her into storylines about Martian life.

With Abi/Bai, it has been some of the most difficult work to put into words what I feel because I have allowed myself and my character to tap into a part of myself that is wordless/word-free, and that, my dear friends/readers, is amazing, almost scary.

I am a man who spent years building his personal space back up after a similar encounter with a character I created from a woman I met named Brenda.

The imagination creates skyscrapers and rocketships, computers and quilts.

How will I lose myself while diving into this new character who explores the world of dancing from inside the World Swing Dance Council events?

What plots will reveal themselves?

What hints of world events will scenes expose?

This is not John Adams’ “Nixon in China” or Philip Glass’ “Einstein on the Beach.”

This is something else.

We’ll find out what as the weeks progress.